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Among the Maples 


BY 


S. A. JACKSON 


PITTSBURGH 

United Presbyterian Board of Publication 
1908 



Copyright, 1908, by 
S. A. JACKSON 



Press of J. J. Little & Ives Co. 
2-20 Astor Place, New York 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Sugaring Time .... . . i 

II. A Day in the Old Church . . . . ii 

III. The New Teacher .... . 14 

IV. A Lesson in History 21 

V. First Impressions 32 

VI. Overheard — Half-heard .... 42 

VII. A Word in Season 49 

VIII. MacGregor’s Ride 62 

IX. Victor and Vanquished 78 

X. The Tongue is a Fire 88 

XI. Betsy Cameron’s Religion .... 94 

XII. The Way of the Transgressor . * . 103 

XIII. The Parson’s First Steed . . . 107 

XIV. Meeting and Parting 112 

XV. A Woman’s Eloquence 115 

XVI. Exchanging Pulpits 122 

XVII. Reconciliation 128 

XVIII. Love Your Enemies 137 

XIX. Through the Flames 146 


IV 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 


Chickamauga 
A Race with Death 
A Beautiful Sunset 
Good Deeds Rewarded . 
Mary’s Cousin . 

Jerry’s Last Sleigh Ride 


PAGE 

153 

163 

169 

179 

188 

194 


Among the Maples 


CHAPTER I 

SUGARING TIME 

After enduring the rigors and enjoying the pleas- 
ures of a Vermont winter, the sturdy Green Moun- 
tain boys were getting ready for the days of the 
flowing sap. The sugar harvest of March is always 
a busy time for the farmers who have maple orchards. 

At the MacLean farm hundreds of pails were being 
washed, hundreds of maple trees were bored, and 
the wooden spouts were inserted to coax the sweet 
fluid into the hanging pails. The sugar-house was 
put in order, and the new evaporator was proudly 
set in its place, where the plain old-fashioned boiling 
pan had done service for so many years. 

Hugh MacLean had predicted a good sugar crop,’’ 
and the frosty nights and sunny days of early March 
were making the farmers smile, for they knew it 
was just the kind of weather to bring the sap from 
the trees. 


2 


Among the Maples 

The young folks were also feeling happy, as they 
thought of the sugar-parties that were in store for 
them. Lovers and friends would soon meet each 
other amid the wholesome and soothing mists of the 
sugar-house. 

Those who were suffering from colds or bronchitis 
expected much benefit, or perhaps a positive cure 
from the clouds of vapor that rose from the boiling 
sap. At any rate it seldom happened that any one, 
while working in the sugar-house, ever caught a cold 
even when exposing themselves to the severities of 
March weather. 

The older folks, too, were looking forward to de- 
lightful visits when gray-haired fathers and mothers 
would again gather under the maples to recall sweet 
memories of by-gone days, and to watch, with critical 
eye, the improved methods of ‘‘ bilin’ sap.’' 

The MacLean maple-orchard was well situated on 
the south side of the hill, and Hugh was always among 
the first to sugar off. His product was fine in quality 
and Hugh was as proud of that fact as he was of the 
good price that his syrup brought. 

It was his custom to send a gallon of the first new 
syrup to the parson, as a kind of an offering of the 
first fruits; for Farmer MacLean believed in the old 
Mosaic liberality, and he was fond of applying it as 
far as possible to the Christian church. He paid 
tithes of all he possessed, but he went further than 
the Pharisee did, for he attended to the weightier mat- 


Among the Maples 


3 


ters of the law — judgment, mercy and faith, which 
the Pharisees omitted. Hugh MacLean was a native 
of Renwicktown, but his Scotch parentage and his 
ability to talk the ‘‘ braid Scots ” gave him a firm 
hold on the Scottish hearts of Caledonia county. 

It was the first ‘‘ sugaring-off ’’ of the season at 
the MacLean farm some ten years ago. Among the 
invited guests was young Malcolm MacGregor, one 
of the sturdy youths of Renwicktown; he was a tall, 
broad-shouldered and muscular lad, with a good mind, 
a manly nature, and a happy disposition which won 
for him a host of friends. Another of his guests 
was Jack Douglass, a jolly Scot, who had not yet lost 
the rich burr of his native tongue. Malcolm had ac- 
companied Mary Ferguson to the party, for without 
her presence he could hardly enjoy even a sugar- 
party. 

For many years, in fact, even from childhood, 
these two had been drawn to each other by strong 
ties of friendship, and the friendship had grown with 
the years, until they now thought that they could only 
exist for one another. 

A few moments after Mary and Malcolm had 
seated themselves in the sugar-house, another young 
couple appeared at the door; the spotless linen of 
the young man, as well as his plastered hair, were a 
familiar sight to the people of Renwicktown. The 
new and expensive suit of clothes which he wore, to- 
gether with his patent leathers, were hardly in keep- 


4 


Among the MapCes 


ing with the occasion, and he was sorry afterwards 
that he had not appeared in plainer dress. 

Luke Burney (for that was his name) seemed 
rather uneasy as he took a seat nearly opposite to 
Malcolm. Even the new sugar could not put sweet- 
ness into his countenance. He evidently thought that 
he had not the right seat, and felt much like a dis- 
appointed office seeker. Malcolm, however, was en- 
joying that which was sweeter to him than maple 
honey, and yet the syrup and the sugar never tasted 
better to him, and he ate such a good share of it that 
Mary whispered warningly, You’d better stop, Mal- 
colm, I’m afraid you’ll be sick.” 

''No danger; I’ll go for the pickles pretty soon,” 
said he. 

" A say, you MacGregor ! Dinna brust yersel’,” 
said Jack Douglass, who always could be relied on 
to keep up the merriment. 

Then looking at Walter MacLean, who was dip- 
ping out the hot syrup from the evaporator and pour- 
ing it back again. Jack inquired, " What are ye daein’ 
that for, Walter?” 

" Why, Jack, don’t you know how sap’s boiled yet? ” 
said Walter, with a smile. 

" No ! He’s only a green-horn,” said Angus 
Mackay. 

" He ain’t naturalized yet ” — " send him back to the 
heather,” was the bantering chorus that came from 
several of the boys. 


Among the Maples 


5 


Haud yer whisht ! ’’ said Jack, it’s time you bairns 
wer a’ in bed ; if A’m a green-horn, A’m a full-blooded 
ane, and no a cross atween a thistle an’ a shamrock 
like Angus Mackay; A wadna be a Scotch-Irishman 
for the warld.” 

‘‘ Look up your pedigree. Jack,” said Angus, and 
you’ll find a wee bit of the shamrock in your blood — 
that’s where you get your good nature, but your bad 
traits come from the thistle.” 

Jack made no answer, but turned to Walter again, 
and asked him to explain about the syrup. ‘‘ Well,” 
said Walter, we pour the syrup out this way with 
the dipper to see how near it’s done. If it pours in a 
sheet, it’s ready to be taken off the fire ; but if it doesn’t 
sheet, then we let it stay on longer. When it’s taken 
off too soon it won’t keep, and when it’s boiled too 
long it will sugar ; see the point. Jack? ” 

‘‘First rate, ye’re a scientist, Walter,” he replied; 
“ but A’d like to know whan the maple sugar was 
discovered, an’ wha hit on it first.” 

“ Wal,” said Hugh MacLean, who was always 
ready to tell a good story and was well versed in the 
traditions of Vermont, “ the story runs somethin’ like 
this: An In jin chief was goin’ off on a hunt, and 
when he kissed his squaw good-bye, he told her to 
have some nice venison cooked for him when he 
came home. Wal, the poor squaw melted snow an’ 
put in the venison to cook, but she got to makin’ moc- 
assins an’ it put the cookin’ out of her head; so the 
meat got badly burned ” 


6 


Among the Maples 


‘‘ Poor wummin, she wad get her scalp lifted for 
that/’ interrupted Jack. 

‘‘ Wal, then, I guess she was afraid of a scoldin’, 
but you can’t git the best of a woman, don’t y’ see, 
so when she saw she had no time to melt snow again, 
she got some of the sap that was runnin’ from a 
maple tree near by, an’ she poured it into the pot. 
When the chief came home he found a lot of sticky 
stuff in the bottom of the pot, but he couldn’t see 
nuthin’ of Mrs. In jin. After a little while the squaw 
plucked up courage and came out of her hidin’ place, 
and she found her big chief scrapin’ the pot an’ 
smackin’ his lips. He was so tickled with the sweet 
mess that he hugged an’ kissed his good wife, an’ she 
got her first taste of the sugar from his lips ; that’s the 
way maple sugar was discovered. 

Come, lads, let us play Injin,” said Jack. 

Meanwhile Luke Burney was feeling more con- 
tented, as he found employment in stirring a saucer 
of sugar for Minnie Rogers, and helping her to a pan 
of sugar-on-snow.” While he was thus occupied 
Angus Mackay was finishing his third saucerful. 

Angus,” said Malcolm, you’ll need a pickle after 
all that sugar.” 

'' Don’t you talk, MacGregor,” said Angus, in a tone 
of banter. You’ve swallowed more sweetness on 
this here occasion than I’ve done for a whole month, 
and you’re not near satisfied yet.” 

There was a general titter at Malcolm’s expense. 


Among the Maples 7 

but he smiled and said, ‘‘ See here, Angus Mackay, 
you’re on the program for a song to-night, and we 
don’t want you to spoil your high notes with sugar 
and pickles.” 

“ Nae fears o’ that,” says Jack, it’s hard to spile 
sic a skirlin’ voice as Angus Mackay’s.” 

But Mackay was used to such thrusts from Doug- 
lass, and he was thinking more of a fresh supply of 
syrup than of his fine voice, so he went to Uncle 
Hugh ” to have Jack’s saucer and his own filled again. 
On his way back to his seat he stumbled against the 
end of a board; before he could recover his balance 
he had spilled the contents of one saucer on Malcolm’s 
knee, while the other was emptied on Luke Burney’s 
shoulder. 

Luke jumped up like a jack-in-the-box; his face 
was crimson, but not with pain, for his flesh had es- 
caped the warm shower; his fine, new coat, however, 
was a sorry sight, and Malcolm’s trousers were no 
better. Luke was not much consoled by having com- 
pany in his misery. Even Angus’s profuse apologies 
and kind assistance in trying to clean the coat could 
hardly keep back the storm of rage that was rising 
in the breast of Burney. 

It’s no laughing matter, I can tell you,” he mut- 
tered fiercely, as he caught sight of the mischievous 
grin on Jack’s face. 

‘‘ Mon, dear, dinna worry yersel’ aboot a wee bit o’ 
sugar; it could no be helpit, an’ A’m sure ye’re far 


8 


Among the Maples 


sweeter noo than ye iver was in yer life afore/' 

But Luke's fun, as well as his coat, was spoiled for 
that evening. He tried to forget the mishap and to 
look pleasant, but Hugh MacLean's coat, which Luke 
was forced to wear for the rest of the evening, was 
a constant reminder of his grief, and only helped to 
keep him in a sullen mood. 

The occurrence, however, had a different effect on 
Malcolm MacGregor. He was as much amused as 
any one in the company. His sublime patience, and 
strong sense of humor, gave him an advantage over 
the gloomy and irascible Burney. 

No one was quicker to notice the contrast between 
the tempers of the two young men than Mary Fer- 
guson. While she was proud of Malcolm, yet she 
pitied Luke, because he suffered so much by the con- 
trast. Mary was aware that young Burney was one 
of her admirers. She regarded him in a friendly way, 
but it was his ambition to win the heart and hand 
of her who was so much admired in Renwicktown, 
not only for her beauty and her mental endowments, 
but also for her sterling character. He took every 
opportunity of speaking to Mary that evening, but 
she was not so affable as usual, though Luke spoke 
in the best tones that he could command under the 
circumstances, and summoned all the wit that the 
accident had left in him. 

But Mary appeared sober. Her mind was dwelling 
not so much on what young Burney had said in his 


Among the Maples 


9 


anger as on what he might have said and done at 
other times and places with such an ugly temper. Her 
large brown eyes could read in Luke’s angry coun- 
tenance whole volumes of cruel words and cruel deeds, 
only waiting the opportunity to express themselves. 
Mary could not help noticing the quick, malevolent 
glances that Luke sent from time to time in the di- 
rection of Malcolm. From that night she began to 
have a dread of Luke Burney’s malice, though she 
could hardly give a good reason for her fears. 

Her thoughts troubled her so much that she could 
not enjoy the fun in her usual way, though she was 
among the singers of the evening, and Nellie Guthrie’s 
performance on the violin was fine enough to drive all 
care away. 

As for Angus Mackay’s solos, they were not up to 
his high standard, but his rendering of We’d Better 
Bide a Wee ” won great applause. Jack Douglass was 
of the opinion that Mackay’s voice was affected by 
the syrup he had spilled, more than by what he had 
eaten. 

It was near the midnight hour when the company 
began to disperse, but the full moon was smiling on 
the scene, turning night into day for the jolly feast- 
ers. The snow-clad hills reflected the bright moon- 
light, and the clumps of maples and evergreens or 
the hilltops appeared like armies and their sentinels 
guarding the peaceful cottages in the valley. The 
sleigh bells kept up their music for nearly an hour, 


10 tdmong the Maples 

while the sleighs, one by one, were leaving the Mac- 
Lean home and gliding over the smooth, icy roads. 

Malcolm, with Mary by his side, was driving his 
fleet-footed little Morgan, but kept him at a slow trot 
or a walk, for they had many things to talk about, 
and the way home was far too short for them. 

What cared they for the sharp, biting air of the 
frosty night? With warm hearts and fur robes, they 
had courage to face the coldest breeze that ever 
struck the hills of Vermont. 

Happy for them that they knew nothing of the 
cold blasts that were yet to come into their lives to 
chill their hearts and embitter their cup of happiness. 


CHAPTER II 


A DAY IN THE OLD CHURCH 

The Old Church in Renwicktown belonged to 
a ‘'New Light ” congregation. The pulpit had been 
vacant for three years, and the ministers of the presby- 
tery were often called to dispense communion and 
preach to the little flock. The Reverend Theodore 
Brown, from New York State, was to preach for 
two Sabbaths, and his presence was no little joy and 
encouragement to the people. They needed some one 
like Father Brown to cheer them up; for they had 
called three men, within as many years, to become 
their pastor ; but the unexpected would always happen ; 
the preachers that the people wanted did not want to 
come, while the ones that really wanted to be their 
pastor were never called. 

Father Brown was one of the able divines of the 
“ New Light ” Covenanter church. There was a fine 
audience present on the first day that he occupied the 
pulpit of Renwicktown. 

A number of the “ Old Lights ” were among the 
hearers, as their own church was closed for that day. 
Few men were superior to Theodore Brown as a 


12 


Among the Maples 


theologian and an expositor of the Bible. Though 
he seldom wrote a sermon, his preaching was always 
remarkable for thoroughness, accuracy and clearness 
of statement. 

With all his pulpit power, Mr. Brown had yet one 
little weakness as a preacher; he was easily annoyed 
by the slightest inattention or noise on the part of 
his hearers. At the same time he had the courage 
and severity to free himself from such annoyances. 
The man or boy who might be caught napping in 
church or talking to his neighbor while Father Brown 
was in the pulpit was sure to pay dearly for his 
irreverence. 

The church was unusually warm that fine May day, 
and those who sat near the stoves in the rear of the 
house began to feel uncomfortable. 

The preacher was in the middle of his exposition 
of the forty-sixth Psalm. 

Luke Burney was sitting in one of the back pews 
and was getting restless under the influence of the 
box-stoves. He turned around twice and looked 
fiercely, first at the stoves and then at the genial sex- 
ton who sat serenely drinking in prophecy and promise 
in spite of the strange blessings that were being heaped 
on his head. 

Then Luke began to talk to one of his friends who 
sat beside him. Father Brown stood these maneuvers 
as long as he usually did. Then the storm burst, and 
the lightning flashed out of a clear sky. 


Among the Maples 13 

If that young man in the back seat wants to do 
the preaching, let him come up to the pulpit/’ 

Then the preacher paused. Every eye was turned 
in the direction of the seat toward which the speaker 
had pointed. Poor Luke felt the gaze of the audience 
as much as the rebuke from the pulpit. 

Harry Galbraith and Malcolm MacGregor looked 
over at him and grinned good-naturedly. To them 
it was a huge joke on Burney, but the latter answered 
their smiles with hard looks. 

At the close of the service David MacGregor put 
his hand on Luke’s shoulder and counselled him to 
accept the rebuke in the right spirit. 

Luke’s anger knew no bounds at this second attack, 
and he called the elder some hard names. Malcolm 
was not the lad to allow his father to be abused by 
any man in Renwicktown. He followed Burney to 
the sheds behind the church. There he demanded 
an apology for his father. Luke refused with a ter- 
rible oath. The next moment he was stretched out 
on the ground, where he lay for several minutes be- 
fore venturing to rise. 

Great was the grief of Elder MacGregor when he 
heard how his son had broken the Sabbath and the 
Golden Rule with one blow. 


CHAPTER III 


THE NEW TEACHER 

According to its size and wealth the village of 
Renwicktown was one of the most progressive in the 
State of Vermont. Its Yankee spirit was bound to 
keep its business concerns up to date, while its in- 
fusion of Scottish blood made it ambitious to imitate 
Auld Reekie herself in scholarly attainments. 

As a still more potent factor in the growth and 
prosperity of Renwicktown we must consider her two 
Presbyterian churches, one of which was a Covenanter 
society. A Scottish community is usually a religious 
one, and it was emphatically so with this Scotch- 
American town. Her social and domestic affairs, her 
school and commercial interests were all under the 
wholesome influence of the church. Even men of the 
world felt that their homes and property and happi- 
ness were comparatively safe in the little mountain 
village so long as the church bells continued to remind 
the people of their duty to God and their fellowmen. 

A religious atmosphere of this type is always favor- 
able to the development of an appetite for learning. 
So it was not surprising that the School Board of 
Renwicktown managed to establish a High School in 


Among the Maples 15 

the village in spite of strong opposition from some of 
the rustic fathers. 

The High School was fortunate from the very first 
in having teachers of ability and thorough training 
for the work. The directors did not hesitate to ac- 
cept of good instructors even from the Queen’s domin- 
ions. One of these was a young lady from Canada 
by the name of Emma MacLaren. When she arrived 
at Renwicktown station she was met by some of her 
pupils, mostly girls. They had spent much of their 
summer vacation in wondering and guessing who and 
what manner of being this foreign teacher might be. 
Now, as her train came thundering along through the 
village, the watchers were in breathless excitement, 
expecting soon to see the real Miss MacLaren. 

They found that their imagination had taken some 
wild flights in regard to her personal appearance; 
when they beheld the plain, dignified school marm ” 
the pupils were more or less disappointed. My ! 
but isn’t she tall,” gasped one of the girls. 

'' Well, I should say so — but she has a pleasant 
face,” remarked another. 

'' Why, she doesn’t look as though she knew any 
more than a Yankee teacher,” said a third. 

Doubt if she knows as much,” blurted Jean Gal- 
braith, whose patriotism was easily aroused. In a few 
moments their womanly tenderness had smothered all 
girlish criticisms, and the pupils rallied around the 
new teacher, welcoming her to their country, their 


16 


Among the Maples 


school and their homes. While walking from the 
station the teacher’s ear caught the sound of Scotch 
words from some of the granite cutters from Aber- 
deen. She also overheard a few sentences of Gaelic, 
and her heart leaped for joy, for she herself was of 
Scotch Highland parentage and came from a Scotch- 
Canadian town; she felt that she was not far from 
home with such familiar sounds around her. It was 
at Mrs. Guthrie’s cottage that Emma MacLaren was 
to make her home in Renwicktown, and no better spot 
could be found in the neighborhood for resting a tired 
brain and for soothing aching nerves after a hard day’s 
work in the school room. Mrs. Guthrie was a queen 
of hospitality and knew so well how to make life happy 
for nervous teachers and students. Her home was near 
the little winding stream that gave the village no 
small part of its beauty and added much to its wealth 
and importance. 

Along the road which follows this Renwick river 
from Sandy Ridge two of the High School boys were 
driving together the day after Miss MacLaren arrived. 
As they approached the village the boys saw a small 
row-boat near the middle of the river, but the occu- 
pants of the boat were apparently not making much 
headway in rowing. Nellie Guthrie had taken Miss 
MacLaren out for a boat ride and, as the river was 
lower than usual, the boat was soon resting on a sand 
bank. Nellie was tugging desperately at the oars, and 
Miss MacLaren was vigorously pushing against the 


Among the Maples 


17 


sand bank with a stout branch of a tree, when the two 
boys, Malcolm MacGregor and Harry Galbraith, ap- 
peared on the scene. 

'' What you trying to do, Nellie,'' asked Malcolm. 

‘‘ Well, don't you see what we're trying to do ? " 
replied Nellie rather impatiently. 

Malcolm, giving the reins to Harry, leaped from 
the buggy, and, regardless of his new shoes and other 
impediments, was soon wading in the water to the 
rescue. 

Why, Malcolm, you'll catch your death of cold ; and 
it's deep in some places around here," objected Nellie. 

‘‘ Don't you worry about that ; it takes more water 
than a brook to scare me." 

He soon reached the little shoal, and was pushing 
the boat into deeper water, when he suddenly found 
himself in an uncomfortable depth. As he let go of 
the boat he stepped in still deeper, and would have 
gone under had he not used both hands and feet in 
true swimming style. Harry, knowing his friend's 
ability to take care of himself in the water, was con- 
vulsed with laughter, while those in the boat were 
screaming with terror. Malcolm, in half a minute, was 
standing on dry ground smiling at himself and at the 
frightened faces of Nellie and Miss MacLaren. When 
the excitement and merriment were over the two boys 
were introduced to their new teacher and she ex- 
pressed a hope that her next meeting with them would 
be on dry land. 


18 Idmong the Maples 

What do you think of her, Malcolm ? ’’ asked 
Harry, as the two drove homeward in a hurry. 

‘‘ Dunno ; wait till I get these wet clothes off — my 
thoughts are sort o’ chilly just now, but I’m glad I 
didn’t have to pull that teacher out of the water ; she’s 
tall enough to make a good Statue of Liberty.” 

‘‘ But you ought to be glad of the chance to rescue 
such a fine looking woman from drowning,” answered 
Harry, humorously. 

‘‘ Oh, of course I’d try mighty hard to save her if 
she was in danger, but I’d rather have her thrash me 
in the school room than have to swim out with her on 
my back; I declare I would. When young Geordie 
MacDonald fell into the river two summers ago I had 
a big job to get him out. The little fellow struggled 
so hard that I came near going down with him, and 
by the time we reached the bank I was nearly as ex- 
hausted as he was.” 

‘‘ Well, now,” said Harry with a smile, ‘‘ how in the 
world could you save a big nervous woman, more 
than twice the size of Geordie, if she was struggling 
and drowning over there in that deep place where it’s 
twenty feet ? ” 

Dunno ; can’t tell what a fellow can do till he’s 
tried, but I ain’t going to cross bridges till I come to 
’em,” said Malcolm. 

Some events seem to cast their shadows before them, 
and there are words spoken in jest that sometimes ap- 
pear prophetic in the light of what comes after. 


Among the Maples 


19 


About a month after young MacGregor took his 
little plunge in the river several of the young people 
of the village were out boating. It was a bright 
Saturday afternoon ; the early frosts of September and 
October had given to the foliage those exquisite shades 
of crimson, orange and yellow which make the au- 
tumns of Vermont so delightful to the eye — surpassing 
even spring in point of beauty. 

The river was high as a result of the recent rains 
and the boating was at its best. Mary Ferguson, 
Minnie Rogers and Malcolm MacGregor occupied one 
boat, and Miss MacLaren, Nellie Guthrie and Angus 
Mackay were in the other. 

After the boys had rowed up the stream about half 
a mile they turned to go back to the landing. Then the 
girls insisted on taking the oars, for they could handle 
them as skilfully as the boys. So Mary Ferguson 
changed places with Malcolm and proved her ability 
to fill his place by her vigorous and steady strokes. 

Nellie, whose boat was in the rear, was hurrying to 
get hold of the oars, but in changing seats with Angus 
she lost her balance and fell into the water. The boat 
was upset by Nellie’s fall and the three occupants found 
themselves struggling in the river beyond their depth. 
Those in the other boat saw what was happening, and 
Mary soon turned the skiff and pulled rapidly to the 
rescue. Malcolm sprang nimbly into the water and 
swam toward Miss MacLaren, who was nearest to him. 
Angus was holding Nellie above water and making 


20 


’Among the Maples 


good progress toward the river bank. The school 
teacher had gone down once and just appeared above 
the surface again when Malcolm reached her and 
caught hold of her arm. She made a desperate effort 
to throw both arms around him, but he skilfully avoided 
her by diving; then, coming up behind her, he seized 
her by the arms, and, with a few powerful leg-strokes, 
he reached shallow water where he and Miss MacLaren 
were able to stand. When they were safe on the bank 
Miss MacLaren felt quite exhausted, though she and 
Nellie soon recovered from their fright. 

How can I ever thank you, Malcolm, for this 
second rescue ! she said, and a faint smile was notice- 
able, even through her tears. 

Malcolm could not refrain from a burst of laughter 
as he thought of the other rescue ; but he was also 
laughing at the drenched appearance of all four, es- 
pecially the young ladies. 

All hands were soon feeling merry as well as grate- 
ful over the happenings of the day ; they hurried back 
to the landing with all speed, for the air was cool and 
both Nellie Guthrie and Miss MacLaren were in danger 
of taking severe colds from the soaking they received. 
It is needless to say that Emma MacLaren had a high 
regard — an affectionate regard — for young MacGregor 
from that exciting day. It was difficult for her, in- 
deed, not to show her partiality toward Malcolm in 
the school room, but her dignified manner and good 
sense helped her to show her gratitude in ways that 
offended no one and won the respect of all. 


CHAPTER IV 


A LESSON IN HISTORY 

Everything went along smoothly for a number of 
weeks in the Renwicktown High School under the 
new instructor frpm Canada. 

Emma MacLaren proved herself capable in every 
way. The pupils could not help respecting her, as 
she displayed many sterling traits of character along 
with her splendid scholarship. 

The decorum of the school was all that could be 
desired; this was due, in a measure, to the fact that 
Malcolm MacGregor and Harry Galbraith were the 
custodians of peace and good order in the school room. 

Woe to the first mischief-maker or young anarchist 
who dared to throw a bomb of disorder into that 
peaceful hall of learning! He was sure to feel the 
weight of Malcolm’s wrath or the force of Harry’s 
terrible right hand. The two boys had concluded 
that Miss MacLaren was just the right kind of a 
teacher for their school, and they resolved to encourage 
her to stay with them. They knew that the school 
had suffered from the changing of teachers every year. 

Emma MacLaren soon felt at home in Renwick- 
town and almost forgot that she was in a strange 


22 Among the Maples 

land. If every American town was like this one, she 
thought, the Yankees, after all, were almost as good 
people as her own Canadians. 

To her, the quiet old-fashioned Sabbaths of the 
little village were especially delightful, and reminded 
her of home. There were no saloons to mar the beauty 
and peace of the day of rest. The very atmosphere 
seemed pervaded with the spirit of worship, while 
saint and sinner, old and young, obeyed the summons 
of the church bells. 

Emma found great pleasure in taking early morn- 
ing walks along the stream which was one of the chief 
ornaments of the place. 

Its rippling waters, as they danced and gurgled 
among the rocks, were music in her ears; often did 
she listen and linger along its banks and drink in 
comfort and courage for the day’s work. 

On a cool September morning the teacher was 
passing Jerry Brown’s home on one of her morning 
walks. The little shoemaker was standing on the 
porch. He was an early riser and liked to see other 
people moving around a good while before breakfast. 
He was longing to have a chat with the new teacher. 

‘‘ How de do this fine mornin’. Miss MacLaren, 
ain’t ye awake a leetle too soon? ’Pears to me ye’ll 
hev to take more sleep fer yer narves if ye ’spect to 
engineer that High School.” 

Oh, I find it best to take a little exercise and fresh 
air in the early morning,” was the reply. 


Among the Maples 


23 


“Wal, thet's good, but ye mustn’t take too much 
o’ thet sort o’ thing. Ye’ll need all the strength you’ve 
got to handle them brats o’ boys.” 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t anticipate any trouble with the pupils ; 
they don’t worry me at all.” 

‘‘ No ? Wal, I’m glad they don’t, fer it wunt put 
flesh on yer bones to be meetin’ trouble half way. 
Now, ye see. Miss MacLaren, I know most o’ them 
youngsters like a book, an’ their fathers and grand- 
fathers afore ’em; an’ I kin tell jest about what kind 
of blood they’ve got in their veins. Some of ’em is 
mixed up purty well, half Scotch an’ half Irish or a 
few drops of Yankee; some of ’em inherits piety and 
brains from one side of the house an’ a good share o’ 
cussedness from t’other side. Now, I ain’t an old man, 
by no means, but I kin remember when there wa’n’t 
but two or three houses stan’in’ between here an’ the 
corner store, an’ the hul village want no bigger’n Mos- 
quitoville over thar. They was good times then, I 
kin tell ye, an’ everybody acted decent round here an’ 
went to church even if they didn’t hev good clothes. 
Then, we only hed one church, but it was chuck full 
every Sabbath day, till the Covenanters got split up; 
and now we’ve got four kinds o’ Presbyterians in our 
town: thar’s the old R. P.’s an’ the new R. P.’s an’ 
the U. P.’s an’ jest the plain P.’s without any handle 
to ’em. Now, ye see. I’m a Methodist, through and 
through, an’ to save my neck I can’t git the hang o’ 
these Presbyterians, though I’ve ben livin’ amongst 


24 


Among the Maples 


"em fer nigh thirty years. But they’re fust rate people, 
these here Presbyterians, though they’re dyed as deep 
blue as a thunder-cloud. They all know their cate- 
chism, an’ some of ’em kin almost say it backwards; 
they kin quote scripture for everythin’, too — thar’s ole 
Davy MacGregor, ye can’t stick him nowhere in the 
Bible — I’ve tried to ketch him when he was a noddin’ 
in his chair, but Davy was right there every time.” 

At that moment Mrs. Nancy Brown emerged from 
the kitchen to call Jerry to breakfast. She, too, had 
wanted an interview with the young lady from Can- 
ada, for she had many things to say to her, and wished 
both to impart and receive information, as well as to 
show her deep interest in Miss MacLaren and her 
school. 

How do you like Vermont by this time, Miss Mac 
— well I know it’s Mac something, but I can’t think 
of the rest of your name.” 

‘‘ MacLaren,” said Jerry. ‘‘ It’s easy enough to 
remember, but Missus here ain’t quite awake yet — 
she never is, till she hes her coffee in the mornin’.” 

‘‘ Never mind that,” resumed Nancy, I hope y’ 
ain’t homesick a’ ready. Miss MacLaren.” 

Oh, no, thank you. I’m not constituted that way.” 

“ Well, I’m glad of it, dear, for your sake ; ever 
been sick much ? Ever had typhoid or pneumony ? ” 

‘‘ No, I never had those ailments.” 

‘‘ Well, I’m glad of it, you’ll stand our cold winters 
here, I guess, if ye’re healthy; father and mother 
livin’?” 


Among the Maples 25 

Yes, they are both living/’ 

I want t’ know ; purty old, ain’t they ? ” 

'' Oh, no ; they are young yet, comparatively so.” 
“ Well, now, do tell ; then you’re not very old your- 
self — of course not — you look rather young.” 

The teacher blushed perceptibly and sought to 
change the subject; but Nancy was not to be turned 
away from a subject so deeply interesting to herself 
and Jerry. 

Of course,” she continued, tall women look a 
leetle older than short ones, but you have a young, 
girlish face — you would pass for twenty-five, but you 
might be three or four years older or may be younger 
— but now you wunt be offended if I’m making ye 
too old, for I ain’t a very good guesser at some peo- 
ple’s ages.” 

Well, Mrs. Brown, I don’t mind it when people 
do take me to be older than I am, it doesn’t offend 
me at all, but I never tell my age; I just let people 
guess at it.” 

Wal, then, I guess ye’re about thirty, anyhow,” 
said Jerry, for that’s about the time that women 
git afraid to tell how old they be.” 

The shrill whistles of the granite sheds interrupted 
Jerry’s discourse. Emma resumed her walk, and en- 
deavored to master the lesson she had just received 
from the shoemaker. She was also thinking over an- 
other lesson in history that was to come before the 
class that same day. 


26 


Among the Maples 


A few of the wiser heads in Renwicktown were 
wondering how it would suit the taste of a loyal British 
subject like Miss MacLaren to teach American history 
in an American school. Her most intimate friends 
in the village were confident that she would put the 
same enthusiasm and conscientiousness into the his- 
tory as she bestowed on the other branches. 

The class in American history had their lesson well 
committed for that day. The chapter began with the 
battle of Bunker Hill. 

How many were engaged in this battle, Susie 
Bain ? ’’ was one of the first questions. 

Three thousand British and only fifteen hundred 
Americans,’^ was the ready answer. 

'' Only fifteen hundred Americans ? echoed the 
teacher, not liking the idea that was evidently implied 
in Susie's “ only." 

You must bear in mind, Susie, that the Americans, 
though fewer in number, had a strong position on 
Breed's Hill, and the British had to charge up hill ; 
and, you know, it requires a large number of soldiers 
to drive a very small number from such a position 
as the Americans had." Poor Susie wanted to speak 
up for her own side, but her home training kept her 
from contradicting either a minister or a teacher; so 
for the time being she was silent. But Susie's face 
spoke volumes, and some of the other faces of the 
class resembled storm-clouds. The glory of Bunker 
Hill had been assailed, and what would come next? 


Among the Maples 


27 


‘‘ Willie Duncan, you tell me the result of the bat- 
tle/' Willie had a big voice for such a small boy, 
and he roared out, ‘‘ The British lost a thousand and 
fifty-four and the Americans lost only a hundred and 
fifteen killed and three hundred and five wounded " 
(and Willie did not fail to lay emphasis on only a 
hundred and fifteen "). 

But that was not the only result of the engage- 
ment, was it ? Which side was victorious ? " 

“ The Americans ! " was Willie's prompt answer. 

Well, Jean Galbraith, you may tell me what you 
think about it." 

Jean was delighted to have something to say on the 
subject, and she spoke with calmness but no lack of 
spirit or self-confidence: 

The British charged up the hill twice, and were 
put to flight each time; then the ammunition of the 
Americans gave out, and they " — Jean had almost said 
‘‘ retreated," but the word went against her and she 
said, they went over to Prospect Hill, because they 
had no ammunition left." 

Then the Americans were defeated, were they 
not? " said the teacher, looking somewhat annoyed. 

‘‘ It don't seem so to me," came the pert reply from 
Jean. 

Miss MacLaren, with a strong effort, maintained 
her self-control. The audacious answers of her pupils 
vexed her as much as the flight of the British in the 
beginning of the battle. 


28 


Among the Maples 


Yet it was evident that her loyal Canadian heart 
would rather displease her Yankee pupils than let 
Britain lose that one victory. 

A few more questions on the invasion of Canada, and 
the character of Benedict Arnold, and the execution 
of Major Andre only helped to fan still more the fires 
of patriotism in the breasts of teacher and pupils alike. 

One of the girls hinted that Miss MacLaren was try- 
ing to change the events of history. Then one of the 
largest boys asked the teacher if he was to rely on 
what the book said or on what she said. Both pupils 
were sharply rebuked, and it looked as though Bunker 
Hill might soon be acted out again on a small scale. 
But Malcolm and Harry managed to frown or coax 
some of the more turbulent boys into submission. Miss 
MacLaren's splendid government also came to the 
rescue, and in a few minutes the boldest of the young 
patriots had become submissive. 

The following week the smouldering fires broke out 
afresh. In speaking of the battle of Princeton to her 
class, the teacher dropped a few words that reflected 
on the military skill of George Washington. Some 
of the boys were prepared for such an event, for they 
felt sure that their teacher hadn’t much love for the 
father of his country.” 

Bold Willie Duncan and several other boys unbut- 
toned their coats, and each displayed a miniature 
American flag fastened to his vest. Even wee Jamie 
Wilson, no lang frae Dalbeattie ” in Scotland, had 


Among the Maples 


29 


decked himself with the Stars and Stripes, and was 
evidently in love with his adopted country. 

If Emma MacLaren had any hopes of finding a few 
young Tories among her Scotch pupils, these hopes 
were now shattered by the conduct of wee Jamie. It 
was he who marked time with both hands and feet 
when Gordon MacDonald was whistling Yankee- 
doodle on his way down stairs for a drink of water ; 
it was this same Dalbeattie lad that pinned a tiny flag 
to Bessie Duncan’s hair as she sat in front of him. 
His example was followed by other boys until half-a- 
dozen of the girls were decorated with the national 
emblem. The teacher took little notice of these quiet 
demonstrations, but one of the boys was sent home 
for an impertinent answer. On his way down-stairs 
he met Gordon MacDonald returning to the class- 
room. The two boys held a hasty consultation, then 
they both shouted with measured and lusty accents. 
Who was George Washington ? First in war ! first 
in peace ! first in the hearts of his coun-tree-men ! ” 

As the last word fell on the ears of the astonished 
teacher and pupils of the whole school, a shout of 
applause and a roar of laughter burst from the throats 
of the High School pupils. It was a tempest that 
none of the pupils thought of opposing. As for Emma 
MacLaren, she thought best to allow the storm to 
spend itself before trying to restore order. Then she 
calmly congratulated her pupils on their display of 
patriotism, but hoped that the noise and disorder 


30 


Among the Maples 


would be reserved for the outside in future. Two 
more boys were sent home for trying to keep up the 
demonstration. The events of the day made a deep 
impression on the teacher. 

She began to take a more liberal view of the sub- 
ject of Home and native land.’’ Her reflections of 
the daytime were strangely continued through the 
night watches. As she slept she dreamed; and in her 
dream she saw a long line of British red-coats with 
glistening bayonets. The soldiers began to march in 
beautiful order up a steep hill. At the top of the 
hill the dreamer saw a little band of ragged-looking 
men preparing to meet the advancing line. 

Suddenly great clouds of smoke and dust arose, 
then a tremendous roar of cannon and rattle of mus- 
ketry. Fierce looking shells were bursting in the air 
and some were plowing up the ground, and tearing 
the soldiers frightfully. Then the line of red-coats 
melted away, and some were falling into an awful 
looking gulch. The dreamer moaned at the sight. 
But another red line of soldiers appeared. Up the 
hill they gallantly charged, shouting and yelling, and 
very soon they were engaged in a hand-to-hand con- 
flict with the soldiers at the top. 

In the midst of her terror the dreamer heard one 
of the soldiers calling her by name and imploring her 
to come and help. When she drew near to the men 
she was amazed and perplexed to find that the sol- 
diers in scarlet were not British, as she supposed, but 


'Among the Maples 


31 


wild Indians, and the little band of men at the top 
of the hill were Canadians and kilted Highlanders 
dressed in blue coats. 

The sleeper was awakened at that moment by Mrs. 
Guthrie, who was calling to her : '' Emma, dear ! you 
were moaning so terribly, I knew you must be having 
the nightmare ; did you hear the boys celebrating ? 

'' I heard some noise in my sleep,’’ was the drowsy 
reply. 

‘‘ Why, the young rascals set off a whole pack of 
fire-crackers right near the house — it sounded just 
awful; I ain’t done shakin’ yet from the fright.” 

That’s too bad,” said Emma, '' I must have heard 
it in my sleep; I hope they won’t disturb your rest 
again.” 

'' I hope they won’t give you the nightmare again.” 

When Emma MacLaren gave her class the next les- 
son in American history there were peace and harmony 
and pleasant faces in the school-room. Britain and 
America were smiling fondly at each other once more, 
and when Emma was entering the school on the next 
Queen’s birthday her pupils gave three lusty cheers 
for Victoria. Then the teacher returned the compli- 
ment in the school-room by calling for three cheers 
for George Washington. 

Perhaps Emma was influenced just a little by having 
seen Canadians and Highlanders in blue coats and 
Indians in scarlet^ though it was but a dream. 


CHAPTER V 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 

It was one of the days of early summer, when the 
evenings are still and cool among the Vermont hills; 
when Jack Frost often returns to nip the sprouting 
gardens, and remind the Vermonter that the snow still 
lingers on the New Hampshire hills only a few miles 
away. 

Hugh MacLean’s wife was sitting by the window, 
looking down the road toward the village. She had 
not been sitting long when a horse and buggy ap- 
peared at the foot of the hill; then the good woman 
rose to prepare supper for one more person, for she 
saw that Hugh had the new preacher with him. The 
stranger was young Andrew Melville, who was ap- 
pointed to supply the Renwicktown pulpit for a few 
weeks. 

When Mrs. MacLean caught sight of the thin face 
and sallow complexion of the stranger she hoped that 
he was not an invalid. She had had her share of 
playing nurse for sick preachers and catering to the 
puny appetites of bilious theologues. It seemed to 
Martha MacLean that the seminary had ruined the 


Among the Maples 


33 


digestive powers of nine-tenths of the preachers that 
came to Renwicktown, and now this new arrival 
was apparently another victim of over-study or of 
over-eating or of both. While Martha was concerned 
about the bodily health of her clerical visitors in gen- 
eral, Hugh had an eye to their mental and spiritual 
attainments. So the candidates were subjected to a 
careful scrutiny, and it was not likely that the con- 
gregation could fail to know what kind of a man they 
were choosing for a pastor. Hugh MacLean was 
especially careful to ascertain the views of young li- 
centiates on such subjects as Inspiration, Atonement, 
Christian-Fellowship and Psalmody. When a man 
was sound on these four fundamentals, Hugh was 
ready to trust him for everything else. 

When the young preacher's trunk arrived it was 
found to be heavy enough to require two men to carry 
it into the house. 

I declare, if that ain't the heaviest baggage for 
its size I ever hefted," said Hugh as he grunted from 
the exertion. ‘‘You must hev some awful weighty 
sermons inside, eh ? " 

“ Well, not quite," laughed Melville. “ I was fool- 
ish enough to bring a lot of books, and I suppose I 
won’t look into more than two or three of them till 
I get home." Saying this, he opened the trunk and 
took out several volumes of old commentaries. 

“ Wal, now, if ye read any one of them big fellows 
while you're stayin' here, I am afraid ye won't hev 


84 


'Among the Maples 


much time to eat or sleep, an’ it seems to me ye need 
more beefsteak an’ fresh air an’ a day or so at the plow 
than ye need commentaries. Seems to me you young 
preachers claw and dream over yer books too much 
anyhow, an’ the fust thing ye know ye’re all broken 
down an’ yer body wunt stand the weight of yer head.” 

“ Well, I suppose some men do read* too much, or 
they read too many books and not enough of one 
book.” 

‘‘ That’s my idee exactly,” replied Hugh with a 
peculiar gesture — an’ what gets me is, that some 
of the great men, that were school boys a hundred 
years ago, had only half-a-dozen books to study from 
in their hul life; but now — why, a school boy’s called 
an ignoramus if he hain’t got a hul dozen books ham- 
mered into him ’fore he’s out o’ the deestrict school.” 

‘‘Yes, there were some great minds in those days 
that got their learning out of a few books, but perhaps 
they wouldn’t be so great if they had to compete with 
the big minds of our day.” 

“ Sho, now ! I ain’t so sure o’ that ; ye can’t name 
me any one of yer big lawyers or statesmen to-day 
that’ll hold any more’n their own agin old Ben Frank- 
lin or Dan’el Webster that only had about six books 
to their name. An’ as for preachin’, I don’t know 
that you preachers now-a-days kin tell us any more’n 
the old fathers of the Church did two hundred years 
ago when they hadn’t half as many books as you got 
in that trunk.” 


Among the Maples 35 

“ Well, I agree with you, that it takes more than 
books to make a lawyer or a statesman or a preacher. 
But every good book is a teacher, and a man with 
two books ought to know a little more than the man 
with one book ; but it depends on the man. Men like 
Webster or Gladstone would get more out of one book 
than most of us could drink in from half a dozen.’' 

“ That’s my idee, exactly ; good books is like good 
victuals, don’t ye see; they’ve got to be deegested to 
do any good, an’ I’d jes’ as soon try to deegest a whale 
as a trunkful o’ books like that. Supper’s ready, Mr. 
Melville, an’ I hope ye’r as hungry for it as I be ; 
eatin’ agrees with my stomach an’ constitootion bet- 
ter’n any books I ever see.” 

Hugh MacLean refreshed the tired student that 
evening with stories of the early days when the first 
settlers came from Scotland to Caledonia county; 
when the Seceders and Covenanters chopped and dug 
their way through the woods and changed the savage 
wilderness into a fruitful field, and made it a peaceful 
home for those who prized their religion above all 
earthly blessings. 

The old elder related incidents of his early boyhood 
days when the psalms were ‘‘ lined ” and sung, as well 
as expounded; when the sermons were two hours’ 
long, and when church members who were naughty 
had to stand up in the meeting to receive the customary 
rebuke from the minister. He told of the stirring 
times when the Covenanters of Renwicktown began to 


36 


Among the Maples 


improve their mode of public worship; when the pre- 
centor stopped reading the lines in the church service 
and Dougald MacSpurtle thereupon left both the 
church and the town, traveled to the far West to find 
a congregation of the old style, but returned again to 
Vermont when he found that the western churches 
had also begun to sing in the new way. 

Before retiring Elder MacLean took the books and 
led in the family devotions. It was a treat for Andrew 
Melville to see a father and mother and four children 
thus gathered around the family altar. When the gray- 
haired Vermonter read a verse or two in the psalter 
and then started one of the old tunes, so simple and 
yet sublime, the young preacher’s heart was touched. 
Sweet visions of his old home passed before him, 
and he saw his own venerable father turning the leaves 
of the old finger-marked psalm-book; he heard again 
the strong, true voice leading in the solemn, majestic 
strains of Dundee.” Then, in spite of himself, he 
thought of another Saturday Night ” made immortal 
by the words of the ploughman poet: 

'' They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 
Perhaps Dundee’s wild, warbling measures rise. 
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name; 

Or noble Elgin beats the heavenward flame. 

The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays — 

Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickled ears nae heartfelt raptures raise — 
Nae unison hae they wi’ our Creator’s praise.” 


Among the Maples 37 

The Sabbath dawned clear and cool. The pure 
mountain air and the sweet warbling of the feathered 
songsters among the maple trees brought hope and 
cheer to the heart of young Melville. 

He rose early that morning, for he wanted to look 
over his sermon a few minutes before breakfast and 
he knew that the Yankees were early risers on Sab- 
bath as well as on other days of the week. He selected 
a discourse on the Two Covenants ''—one of his best, 
which he had spent two weeks in preparing. It was 
calculated to make a good impression on Old Lights " 
and New Lights " who were to be his hearers. 

Andrew Melville had not seen much of the world. 
In his opinion every church member was a saint or 
was at least innocent until proved guilty. This opinion 
was indeed consoling for a time, though riper experi- 
ence was sure to open the young man's eyes and show 
him strange things and many disappointments. He 
never thought of being gazed at with sharp, curious 
eyes — not even among strangers. He never dreamed 
of having every word in the pulpit weighed in the 
balances, by critical elders, district school teachers and 
rustic maidens of all ages. None of these things moved 
him, for the simple reason that he knew so little about 
them and suspected none of his hearers of any other 
motive than the right one — to worship God and listen 
to His word. Mr. Melville could therefore the more 
easily concentrate his thoughts on what he had to say 
to the people without fear of what they might say 


38 'Among the Maples 

about him or his sermon. When the new man ’’ 
appeared in the pulpit, Hannah Gillespie noticed that 
there was no jewelry to be seen on his person. In 
vain did she look for the glitter of a ring on his 
finger, or the sparkle of a gold stud on his breast. 
It was well for the young preacher that he left his 
jewelry at home or that he had none to leave. It was 
not likely, indeed, that he was burdened with such 
luxuries either at home or abroad; all the better if 
he was not, for Mrs. Gillespie and Hannah had no 
mercy on the man who glittered in the pulpit; and 
these two noble women were forces to be reckoned 
with in Renwicktown. They had proved loyal to the 
'' Old Church when troublous times came upon it. 
They gave liberally for the support of the church and 
were always ready to lend a helping hand to every 
good cause. It was seldom that either Hannah or her 
mother was absent from any of the church services, 
and as they were both blessed with retentive memo- 
ries, it was a dangerous thing for a preacher to say 
anything in the Renwicktown pulpit that was unscrip- 
tural or inaccurate. An error or blunder, especially 
a misquotation of scripture, was almost sure to meet 
the preacher face to face in the near or distant fu- 
ture. When Mr. Melville was explaining the 109th 
psalm Hannah noticed that his exposition was quite 
different in some parts from that of Doctor Finley, 
a former pastor. These differences were rather seri- 
ous in the eyes of Hannah, for she was ready to ques- 


Among the Maples 


39 


tion the orthodoxy of any minister who was not in 
harmony with Doctor Finley in all his views of 
scripture. 

Father Finley never called it that/’ she whispered 
to her mother. 

Called it what ? ” 

'' A cursing psalm.” 

‘‘ No, never,” said the mother emphatically. 

Then the speaker misquoted a verse in Isaiah which 
was familiar to Mrs. Gillespie, and she whispered the 
correct words into Hannah’s ear. Again, the preacher, 
by a slip of the tongue, said ‘‘ was ” when he should 
have said were,” and one of the school teachers 
jotted down another demerit against the speaker, but 
she put it on the tablet of her memory and blotted 
it with a smile of kindness. 

In the seat behind the teacher sat another young 
lady whose artistic mind led her to take critical notes 
not only on the voice and language of the speaker, 
but also on his personal appearance. It was Jessie 
Douglass who tried hard to listen to the sermon, but 
her best efforts seemed of no avail, for every time 
she looked at the speaker she was annoyed by the 
disarrangement of his necktie, the result of a trivial 
accident on the way to church. 

Hugh MacLean and David MacGregor were, mean- 
while, listening to every word of the service with 
varied emotions. Their faces wore a serious look, 
for to them and to the other pillars of the church 


40 Among the Maples 

this was an anxious day. They had long been with- 
out a pastor and the congregation was losing ground 
and becoming discouraged for want of a leader. The 
elders were therefore hoping and praying that at last 
the right man had come. Hugh MacLean was satis- 
fied with the exposition of the psalm, but Elder Mac- 
Gregor wanted a more thorough and lengthy explana- 
tion of it. 

‘‘ He missed a maist important p’int,” said he to 
MacLean. 

‘‘ What was that ? ’’ inquired Hugh. 

‘‘ He didna show that the impreecatory psalms, like 
the fifty-fifth an’ the saxty-eighth are a’ in the verra 
same speerit as the New Testament ‘woes’ agen’ the 
heepocrites an’ the cities o’ Bethsaida an’ Capernaum. 
An’ if a mon reads the hunner an’ ninth psalm wi’ 
half an ’ee he canna help seein’ that the psalmist’s 
curses come frae the verra same source as Paul’s 
‘ anathema maranatha.’ Auld Doctor Finley niver 
missed that p’int whan he expounded the impreecatory 
psalms. But Melville’s but a chiel yit, an’ we maunna 
expeck an auld heed on young shoothers.” 

“ But it’s the sermon that I want to hear about,” 
said Hugh ; “ how did it suit ye, David ? ” 

“ Weel, it was a guid text, an’ he cud hardly gie 
a puir sermon on sic a verse as that.” 

“ Wal, it was all right, wa’n’t it?” insisted Hugh. 

“ Of coorse it was a’ richt ; ony guid Covenanter 
ought tae preach weel on Galatians four and twanty- 


Among the Maples 


41 


four. Gin he had made ane mistak on that subjeck, 
A cudna vote for him.’' 

Then you will vote for him, Uncle David ? ” in- 
quired Mrs. MacLean coaxingly. 

'' A’ll no say; jist bide a wee.” 

So saying, David left the group of anxious elders 
and elders’ wives at the church-sheds and walked 
home to discuss the sermon with his family at the 
dinner table. 


CHAPTER VI 


OVERHEARD — HALF-HEARD 

Few of the young people were as regular in their 
attendance on the weekly prayer meetings as were 
Malcolm MacGregor and Mary Ferguson. They 
had been so trained from early childhood, and now 
that they were close to the years of maturity, they 
were found in their places at every meeting, the same 
as when in earlier days their parents had led them to 
church by the hand and soothed them during the long 
service with cookies and candy. 

On a certain evening Mary was unable to be at the 
prayer meeting. No one missed her as much as Mal- 
colm did, and to him the meeting was unusually dull, 
until Emma MacLaren broke the monotony with a 
few spicy remarks. As Malcolm wanted to see the 
teacher that evening about some problem in geometry, 
he walked over to Mrs. Guthrie’s with her after the 
meeting. It aroused Jack Douglass’ curiosity and 
also amused him to see Malcolm struttin’ afif wi’ 
the school mistress like a drum major.” A few days 
afterwards Jack and Malcolm were walking together 
through the village. 

'' Is Mary no weel ? ” inquired Jack. 


Z4.mong the Maples 43 

Why, yes, as far as I know,” said Malcolm ; why 
do you ask ? ” 

^^Oh, naethin' ; only A missed her at the meetin’, for 
she’s aye there an’ A thocht she maun surely be sick.” 

No, but her mother wa’n’t feeling very well, so 
she stayed to home with her.” 

Ay, weel ; so ye took the chance an’ slippet awa’ 
wi’ the school mistress whan Mary was no there ; come, 
come, Malcolm, I’ll no alloo a trick like that again.” 

Malcolm only laughed as he replied : '' Well, you 
know I don’t care anything for her, only as a friend 
and a good teacher.” 

Aweel, that depends ; ye know Cupid does some 
of the craziest tricks sometimes. Ye wadna be the 
first nor the last youngster that went clean daft aboot 
a bonnie school-mistress. So watch yirsel’, my laddie.” 

At that moment some one passed by the two friends 
on the sidewalk, but the darkness prevented them 
from recognizing the other young man. The latter, 
however, knew Malcolm’s voice and heard enough of 
what he said to afford him a powerful weapon to 
make trouble for the speaker and for others as well. 

When Luke Burney called to see Minnie Rogers the 
following day, he spoke to her of the conversation 
which he had overheard the night before. 

‘‘ Oh, you must be mistaken, Luke ; Malcolm would 
never say such a thing about Mary Ferguson; why, 
he fairly worships the ground she walks on.” 

Well, but I heard him say it,” persisted Luke, 


44 Among the Maples 

“ and I can’t be fooled on Malcolm MacGregor’s 
voice; besides I brushed right against him, and it 
wasn’t so dark but what I could see him plain enough.” 

But are you sure they were talking about Mary ? ” 
asked Minnie with a piercing look. 

Why, of course I’m sure, if my ears are good 
for anything. I heard Jack Douglass mention her 
name as plain as I ever heard it, and then I heard 
Malcolm laugh, and he said ‘ Jack, you know I don’t 
care anything about her ’ — that’s straight, Minnie, but 
of course you needn’t say anything about it.” 

No, indeed, I shall never breathe it to a soul, and 
I want you, Luke, to promise me that you will never 
say another word about it to any one; for as long 
as you only heard a part of the conversation, you can’t 
be sure ” 

But I be sure,” said Luke, excitedly, and looking 
quite offended as he felt that his veracity was being 
questioned. 

But you can't be sure,” and there was fire in Min- 
nie’s eye as she spoke — '' for you couldn’t have heard 
all that they said unless you followed them up, which 
of course you didn’t, and they might have mentioned 
fifty other names without you hearing them.” 

Minnie’s logic did not convince Luke, but her de- 
termined opposition to his story left him with little 
courage to repeat it to any one, at least for a few 
days. But ‘‘ the wish is father of the thought,” and 
both the wish and the thought were too strong in 


Among the Maples 


45 


Luke’s mind to allow the story to fall to the ground. 
So it came to pass before many days that rumors 
reached Mary Ferguson’s ears which made them tingle. 
Her sensitive nature was shocked, but her pride and 
resentment were aroused at the same time. She had 
almost purposed in her heart to treat Malcolm with 
silent contempt, and to refuse to see him. But her 
better nature and her good judgment told her to let 
the matter rest until events would reveal the truth 
more clearly. Mary tried to hide her feelings when 
Malcolm called on her some days afterwards. But 
a wounded heart will speak its misery even amid music 
and laughter. Malcolm soon saw that there was some- 
thing in Mary’s voice and manner that he had never 
noticed before. Even her singing lacked its usual 
sweetness, and she touched the keys of the organ as 
though her fingers had been tipped with lead. Mal- 
colm’s perplexity and discomfort were still further in- 
creased when Mary began to sing in plaintive tones 
the old sorrowful song, Strangers Yet.” As he lis- 
tened to the sad words of the song he wondered if 
his own case would ever be as desperate as that one. 
Soon, however, he brightened up and felt more com- 
fortable when Mary sang one or two of his favorite 
pieces. When, at last, she turned from the instru- 
ment, she saw that Malcolm’s eyes were riveted on 
a picture which hung on the wall. 

I see you’ve got an addition to your art gallery,” 
he remarked. 


46 Among the Maples 

‘‘Yes; it isn’t very large, but I fancied it and cut 
it out of one of our magazines — do you know what 
it represents ? ” she inquired. 

“ I can’t say that I do — well — ^yes, that looks like 
Napoleon, but I never saw the woman before,” said 
Malcolm. 

“No, I guess you didn’t,” laughed Mary, “ and I 
don’t think you ever saw the man, either.” 

“ Well, not exactly, but everybody seems to know 
Bonaparte’s picture about as well as General Grant’s.” 

“ Yes, you’re right about Napoleon,” she replied, 
“ and the lady is his poor wife Josephine. That is 
their farewell, I believe, after he divorced her. I 
framed the picture not because I admired him at all, 
but because I pitied her, the dear soul, she was such 
a lovely, good woman.” 

“ Well, you can’t expect a Frenchman like Napo- 
leon to treat his wife any better than that,” said Mal- 
colm. 

“ But you mustn’t think the French are more cruel 
to their wives than other people are,” was her reply. 

“ They seem to be fond of divorces, as far as I can 
read.” 

“ That may be, but I guess you’ll find cruel men 
in America as well as in France,” was her decided 
answer. 

“ Certainly ; you may find a few right here in Ren- 
wicktown,” replied Malcolm, smiling. 

“ Well, it’s possible, at any rate ; I think every 


Among the Maples 


47 


country has its cruel men and its false men, and a 
Frenchman may just be as true a man and as faith- 
ful as an American — or a Scotchman/’ 

Mary watched the expression on Malcolm’s face as 
she spoke the last word, thinking his countenance 
might tell her the truth concerning the rumors she 
had heard. Malcolm smiled. It was the same old 
smile of innocent humor, and when he spoke again 
his deep bass voice and the merry twinkle of his eyes 
were sufficient to dispel all doubts and fears from 
Mary’s mind. 

Scotchman,” said he, ‘‘can beat a Frenchman 
at any game, whether it is acting the villain or acting 
the angel, because he goes into everything with his 
whole heart, and he’s just as stubborn when he’s 
wrong as he is when he’s right ; don’t you believe it ? ” 
“ Oh, I suppose that’s so,” said she. 

As the conversation became more cheerful and con- 
fidential Mary began to reproach herself for giving 
heed to the tales that she had heard. How could she 
doubt the sincerity and love of him whom she had 
known for so many years, and who had proved his 
love for her in so many ways! So she thought, and 
with the thought she resolved never again to harbor 
such unfriendly feelings against him as she had had 
that day. 

Then Mary’s fingers again ran lightly over the keys 
of her old Estey organ, and compelled it to give out 
its sweetest tones; and as she sang, she sang with 


48 


Among the Maples 


such feeling and such clearness of voice, that Malcolm 
wondered what had taken possession of her. Even 
her father, who was reading the newspaper in the 
kitchen, called out, '' That's what I call music, Mary 
Jane, give us another like that; your old father's 
proud of ye " ; and he clapped his hands as he spoke. 

Now, you're just making fun of me. Papa Fergu- 
son, but I'll sing another, anyhow," she answered with 
a smile. Another verse of Annie Laurie " and then 
another song, and Malcolm was so uplifted that he 
challenged Joshua to a game of checkers. In three 
successive games Joshua was beaten so badly that he 
threatened never to play with Malcolm again. I do 
believe that there music helps Mac to play; next time 
we'll have to close that organ, or close Mary's throat, 
an' then I b'lieve I can beat him. Ye know these 
MacGregor's could alius fight better with the bag- 
pipes a squeakin'." 

Mary, in fact, had been imitating the bagpipes on 
the organ while the first game was in progress, and 
Malcolm often declared that Mary's imitation was far 
ahead of the performance of the clan piper of Ren- 
wicktown. 


CHAPTER VII 


A WORD IN SEASON 

Dame Gossip had yet something to employ her tal- 
ents in Renwicktown and she refused to be idle. 

It happened that there were a few in the village 
who were not warm friends of Malcolm MacGregor. 
There were others who did not relish his frequent 
visits to the home of Uncle ’’ Joshua Ferguson. 

So it came to pass that rumors continued to spread, 
develop and multiply until the original report had 
grown into a monstrous fabrication. There was no 
lack of volunteers to go and whisper these wild stories 
into Mary’s ears; and others were only too ready to 
tell Malcolm that he was no longer welcome in the 
home of her whom he loved best. 

Mary repelled these whispers, but she could not 
help being impressed by them. There was a growing 
conflict in her heart; doubts she may have had, for 
she was human; but her fidelity and affection were 
too strong to allow these doubts to take root. 

That same week, Andrew Melville was pacing one 
morning under the shade of the maples in Hugh Mac- 
Lean’s orchard. He was thinking over a few texts 
and trying to decide on one for his next sermon. 


50 


Among the Maples 

From memory he picked out one verse after another, 
but the right one wouldn’t come. Then he opened 
his Bible and looked over some of his favorite chap- 
ters; several verses of the thirty-seventh psalm were 
marked in ink; among them, the one that attracted 
his attention most was the sixth verse : '' And He shall 
bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy 
judgment as the noonday.” After thinking over it 
for a few moments the preacher thought that a dis- 
course on that subject might bring solace to some 
aching heart. Yet it was drawing the bow at a ven- 
ture, for as yet he knew little of the joys and sorrows 
of the flock to which he had been ministering but a 
few weeks. 

The next Sabbath found Malcolm with a heavy 
heart. It was unfortunate for him and Mary that 
Jack Douglass was away visiting in Maine, as he could 
have done much to shut the mouth of slander and 
rescue his friends from '' Auld Clootie’s ” devices. 

Neither Malcolm nor Mary expected to receive 
much good from the sermon that morning, though 
they were both good listeners. Both were tempted to 
stay at home and keep their harrowed feelings out 
of the way; but they decided to go to church and 
make the best of it. Luke Burney also decided to go 
to meeting in order to see how certain ones would 
behave themselves. At first he rather enjoyed being 
there, for he heard that Malcolm’s love affairs were 
in an unsettled state. During the services, when the 


Among the Maples 


51 


second number of the psalms was being sung, Luke’s 
feelings experienced a sudden change and he soon be- 
gan to be very uncomfortable. Everybody seemed to 
be looking at him, as the congregation sang heartily : 

‘‘ Who doth not slander with his tongue, 

Nor to his friend doth hurt ; 

Nor yet against his neighbor doth 
Take up an ill report.” 

When the preacher announced his text Luke was 
still more alarmed, for he feared that the sermon 
might hurt him worse than the psalm. But the words 
of the text fell on young MacGregor’s ears like the 
sweetest music : ‘‘ And He shall bring forth thy right- 
eousness as the light and thy judgment as the noon- 
day.” 

If Malcolm imagined that many eyes were bent in 
his direction he was not far wrong. Most of the peo- 
ple of the church believed that he was the victim of 
evil tongues, and now they thought the text had been 
chosen for his special benefit. Mary was glad, for 
Malcolm’s sake, to hear a sermon on that subject. 
Elder MacLean, sitting in a front pew, was actually 
grinning with satisfaction when he heard the text, for 
he thought of Malcolm immediately. 

Donald Murdoch looked pleased as he sat in the 
back part of the church and gave his wife a knowing 
smile. Then he bent his eyes towards Malcolm, but 
again riveted them on the preacher to drink in every 
word of the sermon, as was his custom. 


52 


Among the Maples 


Hannah Gillespie read the text in her own little 
Bible with a critical air, marked it with a pencil, and 
handed the book to her mother. As the sermon pro- 
gressed she nudged her mother from time to time, 
and once or twice nodded her head as a sign of ap- 
proval when she thought the preacher made a good 
point. The speaker had reached a part of his dis- 
course where he was censuring those who sought to 
defame the character of their neighbor by unkind re- 
marks or false reports. Then reaching a climax with 
fiery earnestness, he lifted his lean, sinewy right 
hand and pointed his finger at the audience, as he 
exclaimed, ‘‘ Thou art the man ! ’’ The words of the 
old prophet had a sobering effect on the audience; 
they fell on Luke Burney’s ears like the sudden crash 
of thunder, for he felt that the finger of the speaker 
was pointing straight at his head. 

His uneasiness was increased still more by the sing- 
ing of the last psalm, and he inwardly swore at the 
prophet who wrote such words, and the preacher who 
announced them. The old precentor, too, came in for 
his share of Luke’s resentment as he rapped the tun- 
ing-fork on his knee and started to sing six verses 
of the thirty-first psalm to the tune of Mear.” The 
singing ended with the following words: 

“ To silence put the lying lips. 

That grievous things do say. 

And hard reports, in pride and scorn. 

On righteous men do lay.” 


’Among the Maples 


53 


Hannah Gillespie looked straight at young Burney, 
to convince him that these inspired words were for 
his special benefit, at least so far as her thoughts were 
concerned. The young man’s eye was soon caught 
by the woman’s piercing look — a look that he could 
never stand — and he became so nervous and embar- 
rassed that he dropped his psalm book into the seat 
in front and longed for the benediction; yet he was 
afraid that even this last part of the services might 
be anything but a blessing to him. As he hurried out 
of the church, with the ‘‘ Amen ” still ringing in his 
ears. Jack Douglass said to him, ‘‘ Weel Luky, what 
d’ye think o’ the sairmon, the day ? ” But Luke an- 
swered never a word and walked off by himself. 

''What’s the matter with Burney?” asked Walter 
MacLean, as he smiled at Jack. 

" Scots ! A’m thinkin’ the Deil wadna swap places 
wi’ him the day, efter sic a drubbin’ as he got; gin 
Hannah had gien me sic a luk in church as she gied 
tae Burney, A cudna eat for twa days,” was Jack’s 
comment. 

" Maybe she was lookin’ at you, and you didn’t 
know it,” said Walter, with a smile. 

" Mon, dear, when Hannah gets hir ee on ye, ye’ll feel 
it clear tae your boots, gin she’s na pleased at ye ; na, na, 
she wasna glowrin’ at me, or A wadna be here the noo.” 

The first part of the services that day was slightly 
interrupted by an unusual occurrence. 

Aaron Cargill, a sturdy veteran of the Civil War, 


54 


''Among the Maples 

had neglected to put the fire out of his pipe before 
entering the church. The result was, that after he 
had listened attentively to the services for about half 
an hour, a little cloud of smoke was seen working its 
way from the outside pocket of Aaron’s coat. 

Several of the members who sat behind him saw the 
danger before Aaron was conscious of it. Joe Grant, 
the good-natured granite foreman, touched him on 
the shoulder and whispered, Aaron, your pocket’s 
smoking.” The old hero of smoke and powder charged 
for the door as quietly as the emergency would permit, 
and in a few moments returned to his seat, apparently 
as cool and collected as though nothing had happened. 
He tried to feel composed and to fix his attention on 
the speaker as he expounded a portion of the psalter, 
but Aaron noticed the amused expression on some 
of the younger faces across the aisle; he also noticed 
that Hannah Gillespie’s mother, in one of the ‘‘ end ” 
seats, was watching him with one corner of her eye, 
and Aaron could judge what was in store for him 
from both young and old. Then the preacher said 
something about the smoke of incense ; ” this made 
poor Aaron feel still more guilty, for he thought of 
the contrast between the “ smoke of incense ” and the 

smoke of nonsense ” that issued from his pocket. 
He tried to avoid Mrs. Gillespie and Hannah when 
the congregation was dismissed ; but Mrs. Gillespie 
reached the door as soon as he did. 

‘‘ Wal, wal, Aaron, what happened to ye to-day?” 


55 


Among the Maples 

was her inquiry, as she looked, half amused, half re- 
proving, at Aaron and then at his scorched pocket. 

Why, there wa’n’t nuthin’ happened much more'n 
usual,” said Aaron. 

Oh, of course ; it’s usual for some men to carry 
their pipes with them to church, an’ sometimes to bed, 
but ’taint usual for you, Aaron, to interrup’ the meetin’ 
like ye did to-day,” said Mrs. Gillespie. 

‘‘ Now, ye see, Aunt Huldy, that’s the fust time, in 
fifty year an’ more, that my old pipe has got me into 
trouble in church, so ye mustn’t be too hard on me, 
for ye know accidents ” 

‘‘ Don’t ye talk about accidents, now, Aaron Cargill ; 
Covenanters don’t believe in sech things. If ye’d left 
your pipe to hum, or pitched it into the brook as ye 
came along, ye wouldn’t have hed no ‘ accident,’ as ye 
call it. It’s jest as I often kept tellin’ ye, Aaron : that 
that ole pipe o’ yours would be the death of ye, and 
now ye see how yer sin has found ye out; ye orter 
learn a lesson from what happened to-day, an’ not burn 
any more sech incense as that in a Protestant church.” 
So saying, Mrs. Gillespie (or Aunt Hulda, as she was 
called) was about to step into her buggy, but Aaron 
was not through with the discussion. 

“ Say, Aunt Huldy, I’ll promise to stop smokin’ if 
you’ll promise me somethin’.” 

“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Gillespie. 

“ Promise me that you’ll stop drinkin’ tea,” said 
Aaron, with a bland smile. 


56 Among the Maples 

I’ll do nuthin’ o’ the sort ! ” said Mrs. Gillespie, 
somewhat indignantly. I drink the best tea in 
Orange County, an’ more’n one preacher has said the 
same thing ; my cup o’ tea never hurt me, nor nobody 
else, an’ it never made a fool of me in church, nor 
hurt my breath, nor made my hand shake. My nerves 
is a good deal stidier than yours be, Aaron Cargill, 
and I’m ten years and eight months older’n you be.” 

Yes, that’s all right, Huldy, but you can't stop 
yer tea drinkin’ any more than I can stop my smokin’, 
so you see you’re as much a slave to tea as I be to 
tobacco,” said Aaron, triumphantly. 

Oh, fush ! how you talk ! I ain’t no slave to tea 
an’ never was; I can stop it to-day if I want to, an’ 
when Dr. MacNabb told me not to drink any for a 
month last summer, I jist showed him I was strong- 
minded enough to stop it ” 

And ye was strong-minded enough to start in 
again, too, jest like I was with the pipe a few years 
ago,” interrupted Aaron. 

But who ever heard of an innocent cup o’ tea bein’ 
compared with an old tobacco pipe! Why, Aaron, 
yer judgment’s gettin’ warped with smoke. Next 
thing ye know ye wunt be able to tell the difference 
’tween a cup o’ tea an’ Paris green.” 

‘‘ Wal, I’ve seen tea in some houses that would kill 
potato-bugs about as quick as Paris green,” said Aaron. 

'' Say, Aaron, ye must remember this is the Sab- 
bath day, an’ ye shouldn’t tell fibs so soon after public 


Among the Maples 


57 


worship; an’ as for drinkin’ tea, I’m never ashamed 
to treat the parson to a cup whenever he comes, an’ 
that’s more’n you can say for yer pipe or cigars, so 
ye’d better quit.” 

‘‘ Now, ye ain’t so sure o’ that,” replied Aaron, “ for 
I hed a preacher to my house not long ago that cud 

smoke like a chimney ” 

’Tain’t so ! an’ if it is so it’s all the more shame 
for ye, Aaron Cargill, to encourage a minister in sech 
a habit,” was Hannah’s indignant retort, as she and 
her mother drove off to Calton Hill, leaving Aaron to 
his own meditations and a smokeless walk of more 
than a mile to his own home. The road which he 
traveled was one of the most tranquil and beautiful 
roads in the whole county. It followed the brook 
almost to its source among the hills of Orange County, 
and was considered a little paradise for anglers in the 
trout season. A wild growth of evergreen lined both 
sides of the road, thus keeping it well shaded through 
summer and winter. Aaron’s thoughts were scarcely 
in harmony with these charming touches of nature’s 
brush ; he had become so accustomed to them that he, 
perhaps, failed to appreciate their meaning to any 
great extent. Yet he was thinking seriously of what 
had befallen him that morning, and his face wore an 
expression of grave determination. When he ap- 
proached a large boulder that lay between the road 
and the stream, he pulled out his pipe, looked at it a 
rnoment, as if in fond recollection; then, holding it 


58 ^mong the Maples 

up above his head, he addressed it in a low, firm voice : 
‘‘ Wal, old Sherman, ye made a fool of me this morn- 
in’, but ye’ll never do it agin — charge bayonets ! ” 
His aim was true, and the pipe struck the rock and 
was shivered into a thousand pieces. The robins, 
bluebirds and woodpeckers fled in terror from such 
an unusual noise, but Aaron was none the less re- 
lieved in spirit over the destruction of his so-called 
'' Sherman.” He forgot himself long enough to 
whistle the first line of “ Marching Through Georgia,” 
but was soon reminded of the day, and changed his 
tune to sweet old ‘‘ Avon.” 

While the old soldier was thus engaged, the Mac- 
Gregor family, composed of two boys and three girls, 
besides the father and mother, were seated around the 
dinner table. 

Wullie,” said the father to the younger son, A 
dinna like tae say much aboot it on the Lord’s day, 
but yir conduck in the kirk the day wasna verra godly.” 

'' Why, what did I do, father ? ” asked the surprised 
Wullie.^ 

Weel, A saw ye glowrin’ an’ glintin’ at the gairls, 
whan the meenister was in the middle o’ a solemn dis- 
course. Noo, Wullie, ye’re na a wee chiel ony mair, 
an’ ye sud listen tae the gospel whan it’s preached.” 

Why, father, I heard every word of that sermon 
to-day, and I can prove it,” said Wullie, in his usual 
composed manner. 


Among the Maples 


59 


This younger brother of Malcolm’s, or, as he was 
called, Malcolm’s little brother,” stood six foot one 
inch in his stocking feet, though he was but seventeen 
years of age. He was well built in proportion to his 
height, and had the strength of two ordinary boys of 
his age. The stout lads ” of the town had a whole- 
some respect for Wullie’s long arms, and some of them 
declared that they would rather sass ” Malcolm Mac- 
Gregor than his big little brother. The superiority of 
Wullie’s muscle was firmly established as a matter of 
fact when he was seen one day lifting half a dozen 
heavy sacks of grain, one by one, and putting them 
into Wilson’s delivery wagon, as though they were 
little bags of salt. Then, when he went into the store, 
the merchant was rash enough to offer him a present 
of a barrel of flour if he would carry it on his shoul- 
der to the steps. Wullie lifted the full barrel to his 
shoulder and walked a hundred yards with it to the 
village smithy, where he deposited his prize on his 
father’s hayrack. But Malcolm’s brother was some- 
thing more than a young Goliath; his mental growth 
bad kept pace with that of his body, and he had a pro- 
digious memory which was the envy of all the teach- 
ers and preachers in the neighborhood. It was a sim- 
ple task for Wullie to memorize page after page of 
any book that he might choose to devour. He was 
also in the habit of repeating verbatim many choice 
passages of the sermon after returning from church. 
On the day in question, howeyer, David MacGregor 


60 


Among the Maples 


felt quite sure that his son was looking around too 
much in church to hear all that the minister said. The 
old elder was therefore surprised and rather dubious 
when Wullie declared that he had heard every word 
of the sermon, and that he was ready to prove it. 

Weel, noo, A’ll gar ye prove it,’' said the father, 
while he helped himself to another spoonful or two of 
baked beans, smiling faintly at the same time. 

All right ; if you give me some time to put it on 
paper. I’ll give the hul thing,” said the boy. 

Ay, but A dinna want ye tae be scratchin’ a’ day 
on the Sabbath, an’ then ye’ll miss yir drillin’ on the 
catechism ; that’s a trick o’ yours, laddie,” said the 
elder. Malcolm and the girls laughed at their father’s 
suspicions, for they themselves had, more than once, 
been victims of Wullie’s tricks. 

No, I only want an hour to get the heads and 
particulars in the right shape,” said the boy. 

‘‘ Weel done ; gin ye dae it in that time, A’ll gie 
ye my blissin’,” said the father. 

After dinner, Wullie went immediately to his room 
and was alone with paper and pencil for about the 
space of an hour. When he came out to the sitting- 
room again, wearing a look of triumph, he found the 
family gathered in expectation of hearing a mock 
sermon,” as he called it. 

Na, na, ye mauna say that,” said the father, we 
want nae mockery, but a guid sober discourse, an’ 
we want it frae yir hairt, or it’ll dae us nae guid ; noo 
speak oot like a mon.” 


Among the Maples 61 

The lad began the sermon and continued it without 
referring^ once to his copious notes. While he did 
not reproduce the sermon word for word, it was easily 
seen that no part of it was omitted, for some one of 
the family, especially Rachel or Sophia, would have 
detected any omissions or mistakes of the young 
'' preacher.’’ 

When the boy had finished his discourse. Elder 
MacGregor could not trust himself to speak for a 
few minutes. Paternal joy and pride were filling his 
heart, and he thought of the bright future in store 
for such a lad. 

'' Margaret Jane,” said he to his wife that evening, 
'' A’m na sure, but oor Wullie did it ’maist as weel 
as Melville.” 

Hoot, mon, dinna tell ’im that, it’ll pit his heed 
a’ wrang,” said ‘‘ Janet ” MacGregor. 


CHAPTER VIII 


MACGREGOR'S RIDE 

A FEW weeks after the rumors concerning Malcolm 
MacGregor had been set afloat he was sent on an 
errand to DeBracy, a village on the Connecticut river, 
some seven or eight miles from Renwicktown. It was 
at this point of the river that a few thirsty sons of 
Vermont occasionally crossed over into New Hamp- 
shire, and sometimes, under serious difficulties, brought 
home with them enough strong drink to keep them 
from fainting for several days. These tippling char- 
acters seldom troubled Renwicktown or the surround- 
ing villages. In those communities there was little 
or no evidence of the blighting curse of rum; and 
drunken men in Caledonia county were as rare as 
swine in the streets of Jerusalem. On his way home 
from DeBracy, Malcolm MacGregor overtook a man 
who was struggling along the road as fast as his un- 
certain limbs would carry him. Malcolm soon recog- 
nized the pedestrian as Jonah Grubb, a resident of 
Sandy Ridge, and wondered why he was traveling 
afoot, for he was nearly ten miles from home. 

‘‘Jump in, if you’re going my way, Mr. Grubb,” 


Among the Maples 63 

said Malcolm, as he pulled on the lines, and brought 
his horse to a stand. 

Why, ye-ep, d-don’t care’f I do,’’ was the reply. 

Yer very kind, young feller.” 

As the man attempted to raise himself on the step 
of the buggy he came near tumbling backwards on 
the road, but Malcolm caught him by the arm and 
helped him into the seat. 

Feel sorter tired walkin’,” said Grubb, by way of 
apology for his want of agility. Blamed old boss 
tuck a notion to leave me about a mile down the road, 
an’ galloped home like sin. When I git the raw-hide 
on him he’ll larn some manners, now, you better be- 
lieve me.” 

How did he get away from you ? ” inquired 
Malcolm. 

‘‘ Wal, I got off to fix the harness, don^t you see, 
an’ the crazy beast thought he heered the engine, so 
he up an’ away like the wind, an’ if he didn’t get 
1 across the track down thar jest about two shakes ’fore 
the engine come up.” 

Good thing, maybe, that you didn’t get into the 
buggy after all ; you might have met the train a little 
harder than the horse did.” 

'' Naw, sirree, takes more’n these bum trains to 
ketch me with a good boss. I bin along these here 
roads too many times to git ketched that way — hain’t 
got ketched yet, an’ don’t ca’llate to, nuther.” 

Malcolm smiled at the thought of this poor shaking 


64 


Among the Maples 


inebriate avoiding the train by his own wits, when 
many a strong, sober and cautious driver had nar- 
rowly escaped death and some had been killed on these 
dangerous crossings. It was indeed little short of a 
miracle that so many of the careless ones had escaped 
destruction in driving along this road. 

Scarcely had Grubb settled himself for a comfort- 
able ride when he pulled from his coat pocket a good- 
sized brown bottle. Removing the cork with diffi- 
culty he offered Malcolm a drink of the contents. 

No, sir, I don’t like the infernal stuff,” said Mal- 
colm with a firm voice, and I think you’d be better 
without it, too.” 

'' Oh, take a sup — wun’t hurt you ; never hurt any 
man when he used it right, eh ? ” 

That’s so,” said Malcolm, ‘‘ if a man uses it right, 
he’ll pour it on the outside and it won’t hurt him then, 
except the smell of it.” 

Say ! it’ll make a man of ye,” insisted Grubb, still 
offering it to Malcolm, it helps the nerves and puts 
life into yer brain, and ginger into yer muscles, see ? ” 
So saying, he put the bottle to his own mouth and took 
a copious draught. 

'' So you think it makes a man of you, do you ? ” said 
Malcolm. 

’Course it does,” said Grubb. 

Why, the best men and the strongest men I ever 
saw,” said Malcolm, never tasted rum or any other 
stuff like it, and it don’t seem to help your nerves and 
muscles very much,” 


Among the Maples 


65 


'' How’s that ? ” asked Grubb, in an ugly tone. 

'' Well, your horse got away from you in the first 
place, and then I notice you can’t spring into a buggy 
near as quick as Josh Ferguson can, and he’c an old 
man, but he don’t drink whiskey.” 

‘‘ Mebbe he takes gin,” said the other. 

Yes, he drinks the kind of gin that would help 
you to hold your horse,” retorted Malcolm. 

What kind’s that? ” asked Grubb. 

'' Spring water,” was the reply. 

Spring water ! fine drink for women an’ children 
an’ bosses,” said Grubb. 

Yes, and for men, too. Did you ever know,” con- 
tinued Malcolm, that some of the big breweries won’t 
have a bookkeeper that drinks ? ” 

Who told ye so?” 

Saw it in the papers,” said Malcolm. 

That’s a newspaper yarn, you can bet.” 

‘‘Is it? Well, then, here’s something that isn't a 
newspaper yarn, did ybu know that the railroad com- 
panies are discharging every engineer and fireman 
that drinks a drop of rum ? ” 

“ Where did ye hear that ? ” queried the surprised 
Grubb, as he straightened up a little to hear the rest. 

“ Got it from one of the engineers on our road, and 
I know one that was discharged last week for trying 
to steady his nerves with a drink of beer.” 

“ Gittin’ awful strict, ain’t they?” 

“ About time to get strict, I think, when there’s 


66 


Among the Maples 


been half a dozen bad wrecks in the country lately, 
caused by drunken engineers that couldn’t tell the sig- 
nals or understand their orders. Why, even the saloon- 
keepers themselves won’t have a bartender that drinks 
if they can help it. They like to sell whiskey to other 
people, but it’s too expensive to give away to the men 
that stand behind the bar. A saloonkeeper knows 
that when his bartender drinks he’s not a safe man 
to have around the money-drawer and he can’t be de- 
pended on for anything.” 

‘‘ Say, young feller, I’ve drunk as much as I wanted 
to fer ten years an’ more, an’ I want ye to know I’m 
as honest as any man in Caledony county, an’ I never 
stole a cent in my life, not even when I was on a booze 
last Fourth o’ July.” 

I didn’t say every drinking man was dishonest,” 
said Malcolm, ‘‘ but if a man does want to steal, a 
drink will help him in that sort of business; or if a 
man wants to kill his neighbor or his wife a few 
drinks of rum will fire his brain and put murder in 
his heart, like that man over in Troy that came home 
drunk not long ago and beat his wife’s brains out with 
a poker. That’s the kind of muscles and nerves that 
a man gets from the bung-hole of a whiskey barrel.” 

“ Don’t believe it! ” exclaimed the indignant Jonah. 
“ A good glass of whiskey never made a man kill no- 
body; when I want to feel good and have a jolly time 
jes let me take that much ” (measuring with his fin- 
ger) “ good old rye, an’ I swan, if it don’t chase the 


Among the Maples 


67 


blues away an' make a man feel like a boy agin — an’ 
I never hurt nuthin’, not even a cat, when I’m feelin’ 
that way. I tell ye, I kin sing like a cuckoo when I 
git my bitters at the right time.” 

Malcolm, just then, had his attention drawn to the 
other road on the north side of the river; both roads 
led to DeBracy and ran nearly parallel for a few miles 
between DeBracy and the bridge at Tuckerton. Mal- 
colm saw a familiar looking sorrel horse trotting on 
the north road, but could not distinguish the driver. 
Being quite sure, however, that he knew who the dri- 
ver was, he gave his pony a gentle touch of the whip, 
determined, if possible, to reach the bridge before the 
sorrel horse. The little Morgan bounded forward 
like a deer and the sudden movement threw Jonah 
Grubb’s head backward with such force that it was 
a mercy the top of the buggy was there to keep it 
from going any further. Jonah swore savagely at the 
pony for nearly breaking his neck, but Malcolm in- 
formed him that neither himself nor the pony were 
used to such language, and he had better throw his 
“ cuss words ” at the stuff in the brown bottle for 
making his neck so limber. Malcolm saw, as he 
looked across the river again, that the sorrel horse 
was also making the dust fly as though the driver 
had suspected Malcolm’s purpose of beating him to 
the bridge. Another touch of the whip and the wiry 
little steed seemed to take wings as he flew along the 
road, up hill and down hill and around the sharp turns 


68 


Among the Maples 


so swiftly that the buggy at times was running on 
two wheels. Jonah wondered to himself if Malcolm 
had not been taking something stronger than spring 
water to make him drive at such a rate. 

“ What ye drivin’ yer beast so hard for ? ’’ he asked 
impatiently, as the vehicle went around a curve, throw- 
ing him forcibly against Malcolm. Say, young fel- 
ler, ye’ll spill us out, if ye don’t be keerful.” 

You hold on and don’t fall out; I want to get to 
Renwicktown before dark. Maybe I can overtake 
your horse at this gait,” said Malcolm. 

Overtake nuthin’ ! my boss is in Jericho by this 
time. When he gits his heels a-goin’, he don’t stop 
to pick berries on the road, nor green grass nuther.” 

It was a full mile or more to the bridge, and Mal- 
colm felt confident that he would reach it in time to 
escape the notice of the one who was driving the sor- 
rel horse. He would have walked his horse and al- 
lowed the other one to get ahead of him, but he was 
also in a hurry to reach home before his unwelcome 
companion became helpless from drink. 

Come, Dick, another half mile on the wing,” said 
Malcolm, and the intelligent little horse sped along 
as though he knew the importance of his speed at that 
time. 

For some reason the sorrel horse made better time 
than usual on a steep part of the road which was 
hidden from Malcolm’s view. When the pony was 
passing the bridge he was only a few rods ahead of 


Among the Maples 


69 


the sorrel ; and both horses were still going at a lively 
pace. Malcolm saw that he had not mistaken the other 
horse and its driver; it was Luke Burney's sorrel and 
Luke was driving with a friend, a young man from 
New Hampshire, to whom he was showing the fine 
qualities of his new trotter. When Jonah Grubb 
caught sight of the two young men he pulled the 
flask from his pocket, and, before Malcolm could pre- 
vent him, he held it out and shook it towards Burney 
in drunken glee ; then he offered it again to Malcolm 
with a sneer. 

Enraged at the insult, so malicious and so much 
to be dreaded at such a juncture, Malcolm seized the 
bottle and hurled it with such force that it landed in 
the river near the opposite bank. Jonah's glee was 
turned to rage at this audacious interference with his 
rights and liberty. He was sober enough, however, 
to understand the fire in MacGregor's eye, and the 
danger of battling at such close quarters with a 
youth who was so much his superior in build and 
stature. 

Jonah's resentment, however, was shown in a vol- 
ley of oaths and curses, whereupon Malcolm threat- 
ened to drop him on the road unless he used better 
language. When Malcolm's anger had subsided he 
began to realize that he might yet have a serious quar- 
rel on his hands in the buggy, if Jonah Grubb became 
more intoxicated and, thereby, more furious over his 
lost bottle. It was prudent, therefore, as well as merci- 


70 


Among the Maples 


ful, to help him to forget the incident and to sober 
him up if possible. 

I believe Tm getting hungry/’ said Malcolm, after 
a few moments of silence. '' How’s your appetite, Mr. 
Grubb?” 

My appetite says it’s supper-time ; I’ll eat a square 
meal when I git home.” 

Malcolm drew from under the seat a bag of baker’s 
rolls and another of doughnuts; he helped Jonah to 
a liberal share of each, in the hopes that a full stomach 
might both appease his hunger and sober his brain. 

“ Them doughnuts is tip-top,” remarked Jonah as 
he devoured his favorite food with gusto. “ Dough- 
nuts and coffee’s food for angels — purty near as fine 
as buckwheat cakes and maple syrup; I tell ye, Mac- 
Gregor, that’s the kind o’ breakfast what keeps a man 
sweet; an’ my wife kin beat ’em all at makin’ ’em. 
She most alius has pancakes an’ syrup in the mornin’ 
when I’m a little out o’ sorts. A breakfast like that 
with doughnuts thrown in, is enough to turn a baa 
angel into a good ’un; it makes me sing love songs 
to Rachel, it does.” 

Malcolm was hoping that Jonah’s lunch would keep 
the bad angels away from his brain until he should 
reach home in safety. When the two men reached 
Renwicktown, Grubb seemed to be in better spirits and 
as sober as could be expected. As he left the buggy 
to begin his journey on foot to Sandy Ridge, Malcolm 
noticed that he had another suspicious looking flask 
in the inside pocket of his overcoat. 


Among the Maples 


71 


“ Hope you’ll get home all right,” said Malcolm, 
as Jonah thanked him, and walked off with an un- 
steady step. Young MacGregor felt a little appre- 
hensive about leaving a man in Mr. Grubb’s condition 
to foot it alone for four miles in such cold weather. 
If he should begin to tipple again, as was to be feared, 
he was likely to fall by the way, and then, what? for 
the night was growing unusually cold. 

As the sun went down behind the western hills, the 
air grew sharper, and the chill November winds be- 
gan to blow fiercely, bringing with them the first snow- 
flakes. Poor Jonah was not warmly clad, and even 
his exertion in walking did not prevent him from feel- 
ing the piercing cold. He took an extra draught from 
the second flask, assuring himself that no cold could 
penetrate such a warm protector. Another draught 
and then another, to meet the increasing storm, and 
before Jonah had covered two miles of his homeward 
journey, he staggered against a barn in the darkness, 
and was soon asleep on the ground. The snow covered 
him with its blanket of white, as if to shelter him 
from the cruel winds and the biting frost. 

In an humble but neat little cottage in Sandy Ridge, 
Mrs. Rachel Grubb was preparing the evening meal. 
It was an hour or more past the usual supper-time, 
and the four little ones were growing impatient from 
hunger. The mother was becoming more anxious 
every minute, still hoping and expecting to hear, at 
any moment, the welcome sound of Major’s prancing 


72 


Among the Maples 


hoofs and the shout of the husband and father. The 
clock struck seven but no father appeared. 

“ Come, children, we'll hev our supper and maybe 
papa will come when we begin to eat our buckwheat 
cakes." 

'Es ; maybe pap turn soon now, tauze he likes 
buckseets takes," exclaimed four-year-old Eddie, as he 
climbed up into his high chair. Me teep some of 
my takes for pap, tauze he sed he bing me tandy — boss 
an' peanuts fom Bacytown. 

‘‘ No ; he didn't say 'at — the peanuts was fer me ! " 
shouted Madge, who was two years older than Eddie. 

‘‘ No, 'ey wa'n't fer 'oo," said Eddie, '' tauze pap 
sed peanuts wasn't dood fer 'oo — make 'oo tumick 
sore." 

He did not say 'at, at all, now ; you 'staken, Eddie 
Grubb; pap said he'd bring me mo' peanuts, if I eat 
'em slow — now." 

‘‘ Well," insisted Eddie, well, anyhow, he make 
'oo div me turn," and the boy's eyes glared defiance 
across the table. 

‘‘ Come, come ! you children keep quiet or we won't 
hear papa when he comes," said the mother. 

The children partook of their supper in silence for 
a few moments ; then Madge, seeming to fret over the 
father's empty chair at the head of the table, broke 
the stillness with a voice beyond her years: 

Mamma, I do wonder what teeps papa so late, 
when he promised to be home for supper ? " 


Among the Maples 


73 


Oh, I don't know — I do hope he hasn't " 

“Hasn't what, mamma?" queried Madge. 

“ Nothing, child, eat your supper and don't ask so 
many questions; papa's somewhere on the road, an’ 
he'll get home sometime — he always has." 

But the mother's heart was full of anxiety and dark 
forebodings. She thought of the dangerous crossings 
between Renwicktown and DeBracy, and she feared 
that Jonah might not be in a condition to avoid the 
flying trains. Then the sudden storm, the merciless 
winds, as they howled and sighed through the trees, 
and the wintry sting of the night air on her face, as 
she opened the door to look out — all these made her 
feel still more gloomy, as she thought of her easily 
tempted husband being out in such a night. 

“ There’s pap now ! " shouted Willie and Madge 
together, when they heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs 
as it turned around the house into the barn. 

The mother quickly lit the lantern and went out to 
the barn to welcome her husband home and help him 
to unharness Major. When she spoke the horse whin- 
nied, but the human voice that answered the wife’s 
welcome was not Jonah’s. Neither was there any 
buggy to be seen. In her disappointment and fear, 
she spoke with trembling voice to Farmer Morrison, 
who was holding the horse, “ Why, Mr. Morrison, 
what does this mean? Where’s Jonah?" 

“ Wall, Mrs. Grubb, don’t ye worry now, I guess 
Jonah’s all right, but the boss has got away from him 


74 Among the Maples 

somehow and I stopped him at our barn; the buggy 
was purty well stove up and I left it in our shed; but 
Major’s all safe and sound, as fur as I can see, and 
he’s had a good supper of oats and cracked corn. 
Jonah’ll come home, don’t ye fear.” 

Rachel Grubb leaned against the fine bay horse and 
gave vent to her feelings in a fit of weeping. The 
old farmer could not keep back the tears as his heart 
was moved by the sad picture before him. He did 
all in his power to comfort and soothe the distressed 
wife and children, and endeavored to keep them hope- 
ful that their dear one would soon return safe to his 
home. 

Mrs. Grubb soon began to help her own courage 
and keep hopes up by trying to dispel the fears of the 
children. Madge refused to be comforted and sobbed 
bitterly in the corner of the kitchen, while from time 
to time she could be heard saying between her sobs : 

Oh, where’s papa ? I want him to come home.” 

A party of eight brave and^willing men started out 
from Sandy Ridge that night to scour the hills and 
the road between the Ridge and Renwicktown in 
search of the missing man. Every house on the road 
was visited for any information that might be obtained 
concerning his whereabouts. The drifting snow had 
covered all the tracks that Jonah had made only an 
hour before the search began. After a fruitless hunt 
of several hours in the blinding snow, the relief party 
was forced to abandon the struggle. The men were 


'Among the Maples 


75 


so exhausted and benumbed by their long tramp in 
the bitter night that another party had to be organized 
to continue the search after midnight. When the 
word reached Renwicktown that Jonah Grubb was 
lost Malcolm MacGregor started out, with Jack Doug- 
lass and Harry Galbraith, and they kept up their 
end of the search until they were forced to seek refuge 
from the storm in the warm kitchen of one of the 
farm houses. Young Galbraith was so much over- 
come with the cold that the good lady of the house 
offered him a little whiskey in hot water. 

‘‘ It’ll warm you up,” said she. 

Ay, maybe, but it had a different effect on Jonah 
Grubb,” retorted Jack Douglass. 

If it hadn’t been for that stuff he’d be warm and 
snug in bed to-night,” was Malcolm’s comment, as 
he thought of his experiences of the day that was past. 

Harry himself had been thinking seriously that 
night on the cause of this unusual occurrence. He 
had been wondering why men should touch, taste or 
handle a thing that could make a strong man lose his 
way so near to his home and cause fifteen other men 
to stay out in such a stormy night to look for him. 
A noble resolve took possession of him while he was 
still on the hunt for Jonah Grubb, and no piercing 
wind or drifting snow could shake his purpose — not 
even the kindly face and sympathetic voice of Mrs. 
MacRae could move him to accept the hot drink that 
she offered him. 


76 


'Among the Maples 


No, thank you, Mrs. MacRae, I’ll take a cup of 
coffee if you have any.” 

We’ll all take coffee, if you please,” said Jack; 
coffee warms iverybody and freezes naebody.” 

Why, of course. I’ll make you anything you want, 
boys,” said the good woman. ‘‘ But do you really 
think,” she inquired, ^^that Jonah Grubb was drunk 
and that he’s lost in the storm ? ” 

Well,” said Malcolm, '' I know he was drinking 
when he rode with me part of the way from DeBracy, 
and his legs were rather shaky when I met him about 
a mile on the other side of Tuckerton bridge. I man- 
aged to throw half a bottle of the stuff into the river 
for him, and he had another flask in his inside pocket 
when he started from Renwicktown to walk home.” 

Oh, dear,” said Mrs. McRae, sadly, if you could 
only have thrown the other bottle away, too, Malcolm,” 
and she wrung her hands in pity and fear. 

Yes, I wish I could have done it,” said Malcolm, 
‘‘ it might have saved his life.” 

But he’s no dead yet as far as we ken, an’ we’ll 
still hope for the best,” said Jack; I hae nae doot 
that he drank the second flask to warm himsel’ but the 
deil kens that rum’ll freeze a man quicker’n ice water 
on a nicht like this.” 

The hot coffee was soon ready and the boys soon 
forgot their hardships as they sipped the stimulating 
beverage and ate a piece of Mrs. MacRae’s pumpkin 
pie. In half an hour they were ready for the road 


Among the Maples 


77 


again, and as they returned to Renwicktown they 
watched both sides of the road, and looked into every 
woodshed for some signs of the lost man; but their 
efforts were in vain. 

The next morning, before daylight, when farmer 
MacKay went out to do his chores, he saw by the 
light of his lantern a human form lying against the 
barn. He stooped and spoke to the prostrate man, 
then shook him by the arm, but there was no response. 
He brushed the snow from about the face, removed 
the hat, and examined the features closely — they were 
cold and rigid in death ! Andrew MacKay was 
shocked when he found that the features were those 
of Jonah Grubb — sleeping his last sleep, his lifeless 
fingers still clutching the brown bottle, now emptied 
of its contents. 


CHAPTER IX 


VICTOR AND VANQUISHED 

The sad end of Jonah Grubb brought sorrow to 
more hearts than those of his own family. Malcolm 
MacGregor could hardly forgive himself for allowing 
the poor unfortunate to start alone on such a journey. 
Yet there was really no neglect or want of kindness 
on the part of Malcolm in this matter. There were 
plenty of good homes on the road to Sandy Ridge and 
there were teams going to and fro at all hours of the 
day and night; so that even a child might have made 
its way safely to the Ridge in spite of the darkness 
and the storm. But young MacGregor brooded over 
the fate of the man who had taken his last drive with 
him, and he blamed himself for not speaking more 
kindly to him, and was almost sorry that he had not 
allowed Jonah to drain the bottle to its dregs — but no ! 
he thought. The bottle and its contents were to blame 
for the tragic death of Jonah, yet Malcolm repented 
of his impatience and angeh in throwing the flask 
away. 

If Jonah were alive,’’ he thought, ‘‘ I would go 
down on my knees and beg his forgiveness — poor 


Among the Maples 


79 


Jonah Grubb/’ and Malcolm wept, as he had never 
wept before, over the death of a comparative stranger 
— one whom he could hardly regard as a friend. 

As he was walking home from school one day, 
shortly after the sad event, he met Reuben Stout, one 
of the neighboring farmers, and a warm friend of the 
MacGregors. 

‘‘ Hello, Mac, what ye lookin’ so blue about?” said 
Reuben. 

Oh, I’m not blue exactly, only a little sober,” was 
the reply. 

Say, ye ain’t a lettin’ that thing worry ye, be ye ? ” 
inquired Reuben confidentially. 

. What thing?” 

Oh, that queer whiskey story that Luke Burney’s 
tellin’ on ye ? ” 

What’s that ! ” said Malcolm, as his face began 
to whiten, and his eyes showed some anger. 

Why, he’s been tellin’ some of the boys in the 
store that you helped Jonah to empty his flask when 
you were drivin’ him from DeBracy.” 

Of course I helped him to empty it,” said Mal- 
colm, with a faint smile, but a sad heart ; ‘‘ I threw 
the flask into the river when he offered it to me, and 
Burney was near enough to see the whole thing; his 
horse was only about ten rods behind us, and Jonah 
was drunk enough to hold the bottle out to Burney 
when he was just crossing the bridge. If Burney tells 
any more lies on me — well, I won’t say what I’ll do,” 


80 


Among the Maples 


Wal, now, see here, thet fellow needs a thunderin’ 
good lickin’ an’ he’ll run up agin it some day, though 
I ain’t none of the quarrelin’ kind myself, and never 
like to kick up a fuss with my fellowmen only when 
it’s necessary. But you mark my words, Mac, thet 
fellow’s goin’ to run up agin somethin’ some day. 
He’s had half-a-dozen of the neighbors here a cussin’ 
each other for a fortnight, because some folks actually 
believe every word he says, and it’s goin’ to be the 
duty of some sharp citizen to stop his tongue jest 
for a spell, afore he gits the preachers and elders in 
each other’s necks.” 

Reuben’s words only roused Malcolm’s anger still 
further and if young Burney had appeared at that 
moment he would doubtless have received the first 
installment of his punishment. But Malcolm’s patience 
and cool-headedness came to the rescue, and on his 
way home he struggled hard with his own feelings; 
and the victory only came when he recalled the chap- 
ter which his father had read in family worship the 
night before. 

Yet it was like whipping a lion into his den to keep 
back his revenge and to believe the Master’s words. 
Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and perse- 
cute you and shall say all manner of evil against you 
falsely, for my sake.” Where was the blessedness, 
he thought, in being slandered and tormented by cow- 
ardly and lying tongues at such a time as this, when 
one’s name was so grievously connected already with 


Among the Maples 81 

the death of a drunkard ? But the Bible said ‘‘ blessed/’ 
and that was enough for one who had been trained 
a Covenanter. Yet the faith of young MacGregor 
was to be sorely tried before he could be fully per- 
suaded that it was ‘‘ blessed ” to be slandered and to 
be meek and forgiving. 

He went to see Mary that evening, expecting that 
her advice and her smiles and songs would help him 
to bear up under the reproaches and criticisms and 
even jokes which might be hurled against him. When 
he drew near to the house the lights were burning 
brightly in the kitchen and sitting-room. He was 
about to step up on the porch when he stopped sud- 
denly and stood, as if something had riveted him to 
the spot. Looking through the lower part of the win- 
dow of the sitting-room he could easily see Mary 
working away at her sewing and Luke Burney sitting 
on the other side of the room! 

‘‘ What can this mean I ” were the words that rushed 
from Malcolm’s lips in a whisper. His heart beat 
faster than he had ever felt it beat before, his fingers 
began to move nervously, and he soon realized that 
even he — Malcolm MacGregor — could suffer from the 
pangs of cruel jealousy. The audacity of Luke’s visit 
at the Ferguson home, and the thought of his mali- 
cious lies and other mean acts, of recent date, all 
combined to fire Malcolm’s brain with terrible pas- 
sion, and he stood for a moment like a lion ready to 
spring on his prey. But just then he noticed a look 


82 


Among the Maples 


of embarrassment in Burney’s face, and he watched 
him as he wriggled in the chair, and began to stroke 
the black pussy to hide his uneasiness. Malcolm then 
looked at Mary’s face and concluded that she was not 
well pleased with her visitor — at least it was apparent 
that the conversation between the two was not of an 
agreeable nature, and Malcolm was consoled by the 
thought. It was well, indeed, that he saw Luke Burney 
withering under Mary’s words and looks of indigna- 
tion; for the storm that was raging in the sitting- 
room prevented a still greater conflict on the outside, 
when Luke rose and went home a few moments later. 
By that time Malcolm’s anger was somewhat appeased, 
when he saw that his enemy’s visit was both short and 
unwelcome. As Luke opened the door, Malcolm 
stepped into the woodshed at the side of the house 
and watched him as he walked down the road in a 
hurry. While Malcolm was glad that he had been 
able to check his resentment and thus avoid a lively 
battle in the presence of the Ferguson family, yet he 
was wishing that he could have met Burney that night 
in some other spot more favorable for a fight; but 
again he put away the thought of revenge, even while 
he was wondering if there were no command some- 
where in the Bible, not only to hate a liar, but also 
to punish him in a fair battle — but he could find none. 

Mary had not recovered from her excitement and 
anger when Malcolm came in. She had been per- 
plexed and amazed by the rumors of Malcolm’s wrong- 


Among the Maples 83 

doing that had been circulating for several days. She 
was therefore in the humor to find fault with him for 
having anything to do with such a character as Jonah 
Grubb. She remarked that Malcolm should have been 
more careful about the company in which he was 
found, when he knew that he had enemies who were 
watching his every act and every word, and seeking to 
do him injury. Mary also referred to the previous 
rumors and indirectly inquired what Malcolm could 
have said to Jack Douglass to give rise to so many 
reports and so much gossip about herself. Malcolm’s 
feelings were hurt. He thought that Mary was be- 
ginning to suspect that he had said or done something 
that he ought not to have done, and the bare thought 
in his present state of mind touched his moral pride 
and irritated him. He spoke to her somewhat angrily 
— the first time he had ever done so — and reminded 
her that she had heard already what had passed be- 
tween him and Jack Douglass. Then everything 
seemed to go wrong. Even Uncle Josh was less jolly 
and sociable than he usually was; at least Malcolm 
thought so, because Joshua never said checkers ” 
the whole night, but clung to his newspaper silently 
and tenaciously. Mary tried to turn the conversation 
into more happy channels, but did not succeed. Mal- 
colm’s thoughts were under a shadow and he did not 
seem able to get into the sunshine. He was in no 
amiable mood when he left Mary that evening. Walk- 
ing slowly down the hill, he wondered if anyone could 


84 Among the Maples 

have influenced Mary’s mind against him. Why 
should she speak and act as she had done? Could it 
be that Luke Burney had caused her to believe or 
suspect that the story of his drinking with Jonah 
Grubb was the truth ! These and other strange 
thoughts disturbed his slumbers for that night and he 
resolved not to visit the Ferguson home again until 
he had some understanding with Luke Burney. 

On the following day, as Malcolm was standing at 
the post office, some of the granite-cutters began to 
tease him about drinking whiskey. 

There’s the lad that threw the empty bottle away,” 
said the first one. 

Oh, well, the bottle’s no good without the whiskey ; 
is it, Malcolm ? ” remarked a second. 

Then young Oliver Pierson, a friend of Luke Bur- 
ney, thought it an opportune time for him to give Mal- 
colm a cut with his tongue : '' Smell MacGregor’s 
breath,” said he, ‘‘ it beats a distillery.” As he said 
this, he walked up very close to Malcolm, thus mak- 
ing the remark still more insulting; MacGregor gave 
Pierson a shove, and a dangerous frown appeared on 
his strong features, while his eye flashed fire. Pierson 
fell over on his side, and his dinner pail went rattling 
into the street. Some of the bystanders laughed, but 
it was no fun for Pierson. He was on his feet in an 
instant, and sprang at Malcolm like a tiger. But the 
insulting words had aroused the MacGregor blood 
and Pierson’s savage blow was parried and returned 


Among the Maples 85 

with a vengeance and skill that sent the granite man 
to his knees. The fight threatened to be a hard one, 
as Pierson was nearly a match for MacGregor in 
strength; but friends of both parties stepped in and 
brought the battle to an end. The peacemakers were 
too late, however, to save Pierson from a terrific blow 
on the face which sent him staggering into the street 
and brought the blood from his mouth. 

‘‘ Serves him right,’’ said Angus MacKay, it was 
his dirty mouth that started the fight.” 

Haud yer tongue, Angus,” said Douglass, ye’ll 
start anither battle wi’ yer ain mouth.” 

Pierson wanted to continue the fight and his friends 
found difficulty in restraining him ; but Malcolm 
thought he had given his antagonist enough punish- 
ment; he told the crowd he was sorry for the whole 
affair, but that the insult was too much for him; he 
said he had pushed Pierson away from him to avoid 
striking him and not with any intention of throwing 
him down. 

That same evening David MacGregor lectured his 
son severely when he heard what had happened ; he 
went into Malcolm’s room when the latter was pre- 
paring for bed and feeling humiliated over the events 
of the day. In his calm, deliberate way, the father 
said: 

‘‘ A’m a wee bit surprised, Malcolm, to hear that 
a son o’ mine wad quarrel an’ use his nieves (fists) 
like a Philistine. A thocht surely ye had grace enough 


86 ^Among the Maples 

tae act like a Christian, an’ no fecht like a bull dog. 
It’s a’ right to fecht for peace an’ for self-defense 
an’ releegious liberty an’ a’ that; but mon, dear, it’s 
an’ awfu’ thing for the son o’ a Covenanter tae tak 
vengeance on yer neebor, an’ break the law o’ God 
and man wi’ yer nieves.” 

But I didn’t strike the first blow,” said Malcolm. 

But A heerd ye did ” 

‘‘ Well, I pushed him off when he insulted me, and 
he wasn’t quick enough to keep his feet, but I ” 

‘‘ Ay, weel, ye lifted yer hand ; an’ tae pit a man 
aff his balance is ’maist as bad as hittin’ him in the 
face. Whan a mon is mean enough tae insult ye, it’s 
better tae smile an’ tell him tae say it again, than tae 
lower yersel’ an’ hit back. D’ye no mind what the 
guid Book says aboot turnin’ the ither cheek? It’s no 
lang since we read that chapter, an’ ye forgot it 
a’ready! What’ll the folk say aboot the mither that 
bore ye, an’ the kirk that honors ye, an’ the releegion 
ye profess? It’s a’ richt tae fecht the guid fecht o’ 
faith, but mon, dear, that’s no a fist fecht, an’ it’s no 
a shootin’ o’ yer neebor, or stickin’ him wi’ a knife, 
but it means tae fecht yer ain sins an’ the temptations 
o’ the deevil; but whan ye struck young Pierson ye 
were jist daein’ the deevil’s wark, an’ pleasin’ the 
powers o’ darkness. Noo, it’s gettin’ late, but A 
hope, Malcolm, ye’ll no disgrace yersel’ an’ humble 
me again wi’ yer nieves; an’ dinna forget that the 
MacGregors were aye dacent folk, and niver troubled 


Among the Maples 


87 


tHeJr neebors. It’s an awfu’ bad example ye’re settin’ 
afore yer brither Wullie.” 

This fatherly counsel was given with a mildness 
of voice and manner that had a wholesome effect on 
Malcolm. He saw that his father felt keenly the re- 
proach of the quarrel, and now he resolved to try 
another method of dealing with his enemies. He was 
ready to do almost anything that was proper to soothe 
his parents’ feelings and save them from further humi- 
liation; for Janet MacGregor was also greatly morti- 
fied over her son’s conduct, and it was only Malcolm’s 
six feet of stature that kept her from boxing his ears, 
or administering a good old-fashioned trouncing. 


CHAPTER X 


THE TONGUE IS A FIRE 

It was the time of the January thaw. The roads 
were getting slushy under the influence of a week 
of mild, sunny weather. Yet the sleigh bells continued 
to jingle hopefully, and chimed out their assurance 
of two more months of healthy winter and gladsome 
snow. 

The sudden warmth of the atmosphere seemed in 
sympathy with the heated discussions that were going 
an in the stores and sheds and around the hearths of 
Renwicktown. The quarrel between MacGregor and 
Pierson was the topic of conversation everywhere in 
the town, for it was a rare thing for the quiet village 
to witness such scenes. But one little tongue has 
wrought untold mischief and has sometimes set a 
whole nation on fire. So it could not be expected 
that young Burney's stories " and exaggerations 
would stop with one quarrel in their career of mis- 
chief-making. Both Malcolm MacGregor and Mary 
Fergusop were losing friends and good name by these 
calumnies, and were becoming estranged from each 
other. Neighbors were having angry disputes over 


Among the Maples 


89 


Jonah Grubb's death and Malcolm's alleged drinking 
with him. Burney's few friends in the stone sheds 
were quarreling with Malcolm's friends. Even the 
class to which Mary Ferguson belonged in the Sabbath 
school was affected by the rumors that were circulated 
about her having been seen in company with loose 
characters at Sandy Ridge. 

But Luke Burney was sowing seeds of hatred and 
revenge against himself. He little knew the bitter 
enemies that he was making, or the dangerous ground 
he was treading. He had given offense to some of 
the granite men by ridiculing their ‘‘ Union " and 
hurling epithets against certain members of the organi- 
zation. As a result, he was extremely unpopular 
among those hardy sons of the quarry, whose friend- 
ship was not to be despised. They were growing tired 
of Burney, and were evidently waiting for an oppor- 
tunity to humble him. A few of the granite-cutters 
were gathered one evening in Sam Douglass' smithy 
to enjoy an hour or two with the boxing gloves. Jack 
Douglass, who was a cousin of the blacksmith, sparred ^ 
a few minutes with Harry Galbraith; then Duncan 
Ross and Angus Mackay took their turn and bounced 
and dodged around each other till the perspiration 
dropped from their chins. 

Everything went on good-naturedly until four other 
athletes stepped into the shop, among them being Luke 
Burney and his friend Pierson. It was well that Mal- 
colm MacGregor was not in the smithy at the time, for 


90 Among the Maples 

there might have been some hot words and perhaps 
blows between him and Pierson. 

But '' Wullie ’’ MacGregor was present, and for 
well known reasons he was looking for a chance to 
spar with either Burney or Pierson. These two ath- 
letic friends were inclined to ridicule Wullie’s skill in 
the ‘‘ manly art,’’ though they had due respect for his 
powerful arms. For several weeks past, however, 
the two MacGregors had been using the gloves to- 
gether quite diligently during the evenings, until Mal- 
colm found himself outdone by his little brother,” 
who now became his teacher instead of his pupil. 

When Angus Mackay and Duncan Ross were 
through with their sparring, Mackay threw his gloves 
to young MacGregor. Wullie slipped them on very 
slowly, and then asked Dan MacLeod to don the other 
pair. But, after a few moments of lively exercise, 
Dan suddenly threw his gloves on the floor. ‘‘ It’s too 
hot work for me, Mac ; try somebody else,” he 
requested. 

'' Here, Burney,” said Ross, picking up the well- 
padded weapons and tossing them over to Luke, 

show this lad a few points.” 

'' Don’t know as I can,” said Burney with a self- 
confident smile ; ‘‘ but, if he only keeps his big feet 
out of the road, maybe I can stop him.” 

The disdainful taunt was all that was needed to 
arouse MacGregor’s determination to let Burney feel 
the full weight of his arm. The thought came into 


Among the Maples 


91 


Wullie’s mind that he was now face to face with his 
brother’s worst enemy. The feeling that was upper- 
most in his heart was revenge! He knew that his 
antagonist was not in sport and would deal his heaviest 
blows; therefore Wullie was the more determined to 
do likewise. After parrying and dodging some of 
Burney’s savage lunges, MacGregor was angered still 
more by receiving a tap on the nose. The next mo- 
ment his adversary was stretched out on the floor. 
His head struck the floor with such force that he was 
rendered unconscious for several minutes, while the 
frightened athletes poured cold water on his face and 
hands. Wullie MacGregor looked on his fallen foe 
with pity and a slight sense of penitence. There was 
little revenge in his heart just now, as he recalled his 
brother’s warning not to seek a quarrel with Burney. 

That was an awfu’ rap ye gied him, Wullie,” said 
Jack Douglass, ye micht hae killt him.” 

“ Yaas,” whispered Mackay to Galbraith, but it’s 
just what Burney wanted to give the youngster, for 
I heard him say as much.” 

Luke Burney was considerably shaken up by the 
blow and the fall, but, after resting for fifteen min- 
utes, he was able to walk home in company with Pier- 
son. His defeat and humiliation only increased the 
deep-seated revenge that was hidden in his heart. 
This was evident to the others from the ill-natured 
way in which he left the shop, and the ugly looks he 
bestowed on MacGregor and Mackay. 


92 


Among the Maples 


'' You got your revenge all right, Wullie,’’ remarked 
Angus when Burney and Pierson had left the shop. 

‘‘ Well — maybe,'’ replied MacGregor, but I'll have 
to settle with the folks at home when they hear about 
this." 

“ Sho ! tell 'em it was only in fun," said Angus 
laughing. 

‘‘ Fun or no fun, it's the last time I'll ever spar 
with him or any other man I don't like. If I had 
killed him to-night there wouldn't have been much 
fun in it for his mother or mine either." 

‘‘ Well, fun or no fun," said Angus, ‘‘ I'm not 
through with him yet for the slur he gave me t'other 
night when I went home with Mary Ferguson." 

Ay, and Malcolm has it in for him for what he 
said about him an' Jonah Grubb drinkin'," said Jack. 

** Malcolm won't touch him, for father has warned 
him not to," replied Wullie. 

Mon, dear, he'll touch him yit or A'm mista'en ; 
an' gin Mac had been here the nicht, Burney wad hae 
ta'en his bed for a fortnicht." 

Hope he won't take his bed till he squares up his 
accounts with me," said Harry. 

** Hear, hear ! " laughed Douglass, what daes the 
Burney lad owe you. Sir Harry ? " 

'' Why, didn't you 'hear what he said about our Jean 
and Mary Ferguson?" 

"‘No, what was it?" asked the others. 

“ Well, he told Pierson that Jean and Mary were 


Among the Maples 93 

tired of Renwick society and were running after the 
toughs of Sandy Ridge.” 

Scots ! ” said Douglass, '' yon lad ’ll hae a bigger 
debt o’ bruises than A wad want tae py in a twalmonth 
— wha hes first mortgage on his flesh ? ” 

'' I have ! ” exclaimed Harry, ‘‘ for it’s the char- 
acter of two young ladies of Renwicktown that I’m 
going to defend.” 

'' Mon, dear, ye hae a muckle contract on yir ban’s ; 
ye’ll need wee MacGregor here tae help ye — come, 
Wullie, cheer up; ye luk a$ if ye’d killt a mon; noo, 
let’s hae a step or twa, for it’s gettin’ cauld — whistle 
‘ Alister MacAlister ’ for us.” MacGregor whistled 
like a fife and Douglass and Ross stepped the High- 
land fling in true Gaelic style. 

‘‘ A say lads,” said Jack when he was through. 
General Grant said, ‘ Let us hae peace ’ — so say I ; 
that coof o’ a Burney ’ll get a’ the trouble he’s lukin’ 
for wi’oot you or me ; let him alane an’ bide a wee ; A 
niver saw a bad tongue yit that didna hang itsel’ or 
cut it’s ain throat. He’s near the en’ o’ his tether 
jist noo, A’m thinkin’, an’ A’m nae prophet nor the 
son o’ a prophet.” Then the gladiators left the smithy 
for their quiet homes in the village. 


CHAPTER XI 


BETSY Cameron’s religion 

It was one of Vermont’s severest winters; not so 
much on account of the intense cold as it was from 
the terrible ravages of '' la grippe.” Many of the 
aged people succumbed to the cruel epidemic, and 
many more were prostrated. 

Even Betsy Cameron was not altogether overlooked 
by the giant destroyer in his visits, though her little 
house was situated high up on the hill, far removed 
from the contagions and infections of town and vil- 
lage. 

Betsy lived alone, not because she was alone in the 
world, but rather because she was a whole family in 
herself. She wanted no human companion or help in 
her home, for she never felt lonesome ; and her own 
vigorous body and active mind had seldom failed to 
accomplish their daily tasks. 

When Betsy felt the first touches of the strange 
malady, she was a little surprised; she feared that it 
might be the beginning of a lazy spell, and that was 
a disease that seldom, or never, troubled her. She 


Among the Maples 


95 


fought against the '' peculiar feelin’ for several days, 
and then surrendered — as far as to stop her work and 
stay in bed. 

Neighbors and relatives came and offered to nurse 
her, and to send for the doctor. But Betsy’s only 
physicians were Divine Providence and common 
sense; and her medicines were from nature’s own 
laboratory. 

So she pushed her bed nearer to the fire; her old 
Bible and Psalm-book were kept by her side as they 
were needed at least every night and morning. 

For two weeks Betsy was considered a very sick 
woman ; yet she refused medical aid and accepted only 
the simplest remedies of the home, principally ginger 
tea and catnip tea, though the kind hands that waited 
on her managed to slip into the tea a few drops of 
more potent medicine. 

Suddenly, when few people thought that Betsy 
would recover, she surprised her neighbors one day 
by rising and attending to her household duties with 
remarkable energy for a sick woman. In a day or 
two more she was found milking her cow and at- 
tending to the wants of her pony. 

Betsy, how in the world did you get over the 
grippe so suddenly, and without the doctor’s help ? ” 
asked Jim Tucker, one morning, when he was split- 
ting wood for her. 

'' Wal, ye see, Jim, I ca’llate to know my feelin’s an’ 
symptoms a good deal better than any doctor can 


96 Among the Maples 

tell me. Doctors can see yer tongue an’ feel yer 
pulse an’ look at the white o’ yer eyes, but they can’t 
never tell what yer insides is like till after ye’re dead, 
an’ then it’s too late. When a doctor has to ast me 
how I feel, an’ where I’m sick, an’ where the pains 
be, an’ what kind o’ pains an’ aches they be, an’ how 
long I’ve hed them, it seems to me that I jest know 
as much about myself as he does — what d’ye think, 
Jim?” 

Does look that way,” he replied. 

But, about my gettin’ well — ^ye see, nobody ever 
dies till his time comes, no matter what disease he has, 
or how many he has. But when yer time comes, Jim, 
all the drugs an’ doctors in creation can’t save ye, no 
matter how well an’ strong ye be. Don’t ye see how 
many folks live an’ live on, with every disease in the 
world pullin’ ’em down fer years an’ years, an’ other 
folks, that were never sick in their life, seem to die 
of nuthin’, before they can send fer the doctor. ’Taint 
altogether disease an’ sickness that kills folk, ye see; 
it’s predestination, Jim.” 

‘‘ Predestination ! ” said Jim ; say, Betsy, that’s too 
strong for me. Now, I think you got well because 
you had good care, or else you wa’n’t very sick after 
all. If somebody had given you a dose of arsenic in- 
stead of ginger tea, do you think predestination would 
have saved you ? ” 

‘‘ No ; it would have killed me,” was the ready re- 
sponse — ‘‘ that is, if my time was come.” 


Among the Maples 


97 


But if your time wasn't come, and you should 
drink arsenic — what then ? " 

‘‘ Why, arsenic — a whole tub-ful wouldn't kill me ; 
pre-des-tina-tion can easily get rid of sech a little 
thing as arsenic. There's Julia Perry tuk a whole big 
spoonful o' laudanum by mistake jest a month ago, 
an' she's livin’ yet, an’ goin' to school again." 

‘‘Well, why not?" replied Jim, “her brothers and 
her father walked round the house with her all night 
and kept her from going to sleep." 

“ Of course they did — and that was predestinated 
too," said Betsy; “and let me tell ye; Jim Tucker, 
there was a man down in Boston, some five years ago, 
an' he made up his mind he would drown himself ; so 
he jumped into the Charles river, but a smart police- 
man soon fished him out an' give him a good shakin' 
for actin’ the fool. Then, this same fellow tried to 
kill himself on the railroad a few days after, but a 
section man grabbed him an' cuffed his ears before 
the train came up. Then he tried to poison himself, 
but the poor wretch soon found out he wa'nt born 
to die that way neither; he was born to be hung! an' 
he was hung about six months after that, fer shootin' 
another man." 

“ Then, if I’m predestinated to be hung," said Jim, 
“ I'll never be drowned or killed with an axe, no mat- 
ter how I hack myself or jump into the sea." 

“ Now, Jim, ye're jokin’, an’ I tell ye, hangin’ is no 
joke, an’ ye hadn't orter make light of sech a serious 


98 


Among the Maples 


subject, especially if ye think ye’re born to end yer 
days that way — which I hope ye aint.” 

Jim. said nothing, but chuckled to himself as he 
resumed his chopping, his dexterous blows converting 
the heavy blocks, as if by magic, into a pile of small 
stove-wood. He feared to continue the discussion, 
knowing Betsy’s earnestness and the strength of her 
convictions, not to speak of her superior knowledge 
of the Bible. 

So Betsy returned to her kitchen work; and while 
the potatoes were boiling and the beans baking, she 
took down her Fisher’s Catechism from the shelf, to 
get some more information on the divine decrees, so 
that she might give Jim some new ideas for his edifi- 
cation. 

During Betsy’s short and successful struggle with 
the grippe Mary Ferguson had ministered to her and 
read to her as much as the patient’s strength would 
permit. 

Now that Betsy was convalescent, Mary called to 
see her one afternoon in February, taking a good 
supply of dainties which Mrs. Ferguson thought would 
be both palatable and nourishing for one in Betsy’s 
weakened state. 

If there ain’t Mary,” said she to herself, as she 
looked out of the window and saw her young friend 
hitching her horse to the post and throwing a blanket 
over the reeking animal. ‘‘ Wal, dearie, I wa’n’t sure 
it was you, from the way ye was bundled up, but I 


Among the Maples 


99 


can tell old pony Dick anywhere, an' I alius know that 
Ferguson sleigh with the high back an' silver railin' 
in front," said Betsy with a jolly laugh. 

‘‘ Why, you're just as happy as though you had 
never been sick," said Mary. 

‘‘ Sho ! bless yer sweet heart, I wa'n't sick. It was 
only a spell o' sneezin' an' backache, an' all I needed 
was catnip tea to stidy my nerves ; but Nancy MacLean, 
I'm a thinkin', put somethin' in it one day, an' it wa'n’t 
sugar nor salt, but — thinks I, it's Nancy's doin' an' it 
won't pisen me. An' I wouldn't be the leastest mite 
surprised, Mary, if the old doctor had his spoon in 
it too — but I'm talkin' ye to death an' never ast ye to 
take yer wraps off; lay them down anywhere, an' sit 
up to the fire; bless yer heart, I believe yer cold — 
why, Mary, ye're lookin' thin, or maybe ye're growin' 
too fast, if my eyes don't deceive me." 

“ Oh, I suppose I'm growing yet, but my health is 
all right," replied Mary, yet it was plain that there 
were lines in the beautiful face that spoke of worry 
and sleepless nights. 

‘‘ Now, dear," said Betsy in a sympathetic voice, 

I jest imagine you're worry in' a little mite, now, 
ain't ye ? " 

Betsy's tender words brought the blush to Mary's 
cheeks, and she struggled to keep back the tears. 
There was a lump in her throat when she tried to 
speak, but Betsy came to her relief by saying, ‘‘ Now, 
Mary, when I git to worryin' over what folks say 


100 


Among the Maples 


and what they don’t say, I can drown it all in a few 
drops o’ David’s tonic, an’ ye know that’s my daily 
medicine. When I was a sittin’ an’ sippin’ at his well 
of Bethlehem this very mornin’, why, Mary, I jest 
thought of you, for the psalm seemed to be jest what 
ye would need, an’ I sung it as hearty as my old 
voice would let me, but ye know, that ‘ grip ’ or what- 
ever it was, has tuk some o’ my music away, an’ I can’t 
hold out so long, somehow — but listen, Mary: 

‘ For evil-doers fret thou not 
Thyself unquietly; 

Nor do thou envy bear to those 
That work iniquity. 

For, even like unto the grass, 

Soon be cut down shall they; 

And, like the green and tender herb. 

They wither shall away.’ ” 

Betsy went on and repeated about twenty-five verses 
of this favorite song, and did it with an inflection and 
an emphasis that would have done credit to the village 
preacher. 

Where’s the use o’ worryin’ an’ stewin’ when 
ye’ve got sech a barrel o’ promises as that? Why, 
my dear girl, it’s foolish, it’s heathenish for you or 
me to worry and lose sleep an’ git scared as though 
them beautiful words was only a lot of foam an’ 
poetry. But, if they’re all true, then ye ain’t usin’ 
the Lord right, Mary, to fret yerself, when He’s given 
ye sech a downy pillow fer yer head.” Then she rose 


Among the Maples 


101 


to put another four-foot log into the stove. Only a 
third part of the log would go inside of her stove, so 
she rested the outer end on an old chair, leaving the 
stove door open. 

Why, Betsy, you might burn your house down, 
if you leave it that way,” said Mary. 

Wal, it haint never burned down yet,” was the 
blithe answer, an’ them logs behave purty cute when 
I doctor ’em that way. Now, what’s this ye’ve got? ” 
Mary opened a letter and handed it to Betsy. ‘‘ Read 
that,” she said, and Betsy read it slowly and with 
difficulty. 

Oh, oh ! an anonymous letter and a bad one, too — 
wal, that kind is alius bad,” said Betsy, “ an’ the best 
place for sech infernal things is the fire; why didn’t 
ye put it there the fust thing ? ” 

Yes, I suppose I ought to ; but I’m trying to find 

out who wrote it and ” 

‘‘ Don’t ye trouble yerself, Mary dear, with sech non- 
sense. Providence ’ll find out the guilty ones, an’ He’ll 
punish ’em too, don’t ye fear.” 

The letter was unmistakably from a woman’s hand, 
but was so well disguised that no one but an expert 
could easily trace it to the right source. Betsy Cam- 
eron was no expert in deciphering handwriting or in 
detecting any one’s peculiar chirography. 

But there was one sentence in the calumnious letter 
that attracted Betsy’s attention more than any other 
part: “A saint abroad and a devil at home.’^ She 


102 


Among the Maples 


read it over again and again until her righteous wrath 
sent the crimson to her cheek. Fve heerd them 
words before/’ said Betsy, raising her voice and her 
index finger at the same time. 

‘‘Yes, I’ve heerd them words before,” she repeated; 
“ but now, Mary, you know as well as I do, that the 
one that writ that vile stuff can’t be nuthin’ else but 
bad ! I wunt say a bad woman, ’cuz it might be a man ; 
an’ it’s an awful good sign that ye’re on the right side, 
when ye got sech wicked folks agin’ ye.” Then Betsy 
quoted from the prose version of the same psalm that 
she had just repeated in verse: “The wicked plotteth 
against the just, and gnasheth upon him with his 
teeth.” 

“ Well, that’s a comfort to me now, Betsy,” said 
Mary, “ but I never could see much in that verse be- 
fore.” 

“ But that ain’t all, my dear girl. ‘ Their sword 
shall enter into their own heart, and their bows shall 
be broken’; some goody-goody folks don’t like that; 
they say it’s too hard on the poor sinner ; but the Lord 
knows how to deal with sinners better ’n we do, an’ 
it’s a mercy to us that He doesn’t give ’em all their 
own way.” 

Before Mary’s short visit was over she had regained 
her usual good cheer. The anonymous letter was con- 
signed to the flames, and was soon forgotten when 
Mary emptied her basket of the oatcakes, pumpkin 
pies and Graham muffins which her mother had sent 
to Betsy. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR 

It was a fortnight after Mary's visit when Betsy 
Cameron had another caller who was not quite so wel- 
come. She was a woman of middle age, with grace- 
ful figure and a face, once beautiful, but now marred 
by a stormy life of sin. Her small blue eyes could 
either sparkle with merriment or blaze with envy and 
spite. 

The atmosphere of a Covenanter home was not con- 
genial to a woman like this Mrs. Blackthorn. Yet she 
liked to visit Betsy occasionally, if for no other reason 
than the delight which she took in showing the faults 
and hypocrisy of church members. She knew that 
this was a bitter dose to a loyal Covenanter, but to 
Mrs. Blackthorn herself, it was a sweet morsel under 
her tongue." More than one upright character in 
Renwicktown had been assailed and besmirched by her 
tongue. Betsy knew this, and was therefore prepared 
to believe that this same woman had something to do 
with the anonymous letter sent to Mary. When Mrs. 
Blackthorn turned the conversation to her favorite 
subject, Betsy was ready for her. 

“ So ye think that church folks ain't quite as good 
as they ought to be ? " 


104 


Among the Maples 


No; not by a jugful — and more'n that, they ain’t 
half as holy as they pretend to be, and I should think 
you would know that by this time.” 

This was said with a provoking sneer, but Betsy 
answered calmly, ‘‘ Wal, I know — or Fve heerd of 
some folks that was ' saints abroad an’ devils at hum,’ 
but I hain’t seen no sech critters in our church or any 
other church.” 

There was a look of suspicion and uneasiness in 
Saphira Blackthorn’s face. Betsy noticed it, and she 
followed up her advantage — 

‘‘ Trouble is, Saphiry, ye don’t know good people 
from bad ones, or ye wouldn’t pick out the best ones 
an’ run ’em down like ye do sometimes — but then I 
guess a shinin’ mark makes a good target; ain’t that 
so?” 

No ; I never say a word against any one that lives 
right,” was the confident reply. 

‘‘ Nobody lives exactly right. But there’s folks 
’round here, Saphiry, jest as good and as holy as yer- 
self, an’ may be a leetle mite holier, that I’ve heerd 
ye call the wuss names ye could think on.” 

‘‘ I don’t know who they be,” said Saphira with a 
curl of the lip. Then she rose to go, for Betsy was 
making it uncomfortably warm for her. But before 
she reached the door another arrow from Betsy had 
smitten the guilty conscience : Wal, I kin tell ye some 
of ’em: there’s Becky Nelson, an’ Janet MacGregor, 
an’ Nancy MacLean, an’ Elder Murdock an’ — ye’ve 
even said mean things about Mary Ferguson.” 


Among the Maples 


105 


'' I never did ! ’’ was the hot reply ; and Saphira 
left in angry haste, for she feared another thrust from 
her plucky antagonist. 

This unceremonious departure and the nervousness 
shown by Mrs. Blackthorn at the bare mention of 
Mary Ferguson’s name, left no doubt in Betsy’s mind 
as to the source of the anonymous letter. 

About this time the guilty woman’s troubles were 
increasing. She had traveled a sinful pathway for 
many years, and seemed to escape the penalty of her 
deeds. But the day of reckoning was soon to come. 

It began to be whispered around that Mrs. Black- 
thorn had sent a vile, anonymous letter to Mary Fer- 
guson. Some of the boys of the village said they 
were angry enough to burn down the house and barn 
of the guilty one. Then a rumor reached Saphira’s 
ears that some one had threatened to bum her house. 
The rumor had little foundation, but it sent terror to 
the heart of the guilty woman. It robbed her of sleep. 
Night after night she lay awake and listened — in her 
imagination — to the crackling of the timbers and the 
angry roar of the flames enveloping her house. Con- 
science was doing its work. The sins of her ungodly 
life never appeared to Mrs. Blackthorn as they did 
now. For weeks she fought against the strange emo- 
tions of her stormy heart, and struggled to drown 
the accusing voice, but it would not be hushed. Then 
there were tempests in the home also, for Jake Black- 
thorn had grown very ill-natured and jealous. Family 


106 


Among the Maples 


quarrels were frequent. At last, one night, Jake left 
the house, after he and Saphira had hurled hard names 
and curses at each other for half an hour. The hus- 
band did not return until near midnight. A light was 
burning dimly in the kitchen, but the rest of the house 
was in darkness. 

Jake looked in at the kitchen window, but could see 
no one. He opened the door quietly, while a strange 
fear stole upon him. There was no sound when he 
entered the room, but the lonely, solemn tick, tick of 
the old clock which stood on the mantel. Then he 
stepped softly to the other side of the large table. 
There he saw his wife seated on a little stool, her head 
resting on a chair, and one hand clutching the back 
of the chair. 

On the table was a small bottle; Jake picked it up 
and read the label : ‘‘ My God ! she’s done it at last ! ” 
he cried, as the word poison ” met his eyes. 

He spoke to her in heartrending tones, begging her 
to speak just once more to him. Her body was still 
quite warm, and Jake felt hopeful that her life might 
yet be saved. He rushed out to neighbor Bailey’s for 
help, but before he returned poor Saphira was gone 
to another world. 

Tenderly the two men lifted her body and laid it 
on the old lounge in the next room. Another neigh- 
bor, meanwhile, was driving furiously to the village 
for Doctor MacNabb. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE parson's first STEED 

A FAMILIAR figure in Renwicktown was Reuben 
Stout. Rube " was a ready man — ready in speech 
and ready to act, and ready for anything in the way 
of rural pursuits or enterprise. 

Some thought that Reuben missed his calling when 
he did not study law. Other friends of his earlier 
days had cherished hopes that he might become a 
great temperance lecturer or a congressional orator. 
But Reuben, with all his natural gifts, chose to be 
a plain rustic. He carried on a lively trade in horses, 
dealing in all kinds and grades, from the mettled 
Arabian down to the walking shadows of the Boston 
car-stables. 

Reuben's Arabian stock had no doubt a strong in- 
fusion of good Morgan blood, and therefore they had 
no need of a pedigree from the deserts of Asia or 
Africa. 

It may have been one of these ‘‘ Arabs " that Reuben 
drove in his milk wagon ; but Cyclone's " regular 
duty of stopping at the doors of his customers had 
quite discouraged him from displaying his native fleet- 


108 'Among the Maples 

ness. Once in a while, however, when the road was 
clear and Reuben and his steed were both in the hu- 
mor, it needed only a challenger to rouse the fiery 
spirit of Cyclone ; and more than one of Renwick- 
town’s proud trotters were compelled to bite the dust 
behind the flying hoofs -of the ‘‘Arabian.’’ 

When the parson needed a horse he decided to look 
at some of the styles that Reuben Stout had on hand. 
Horses were cheap at that time and Reuben said he 
was sure he could get the parson a good family pet 
for a moderate sum. It was not long before Reuben 
selected a good-looking bay from a lot of horses lately 
received from Boston. 

The parson took the horse on trial for two weeks. 
The steed was so gentle in the stable that a child might 
have walked underneath and all around him, without 
much danger. Then he was fearless on the road, and 
behaved himself so well that the most timid woman 
could harness and drive him. 

So Mr. Melville was well pleased with the horse, 
for it was safety in horse-flesh that he wanted rather 
than speed or beauty. “ Old Ben ” was somewhat 
coarse in the limbs, and his speed was below the aver- 
age driving horse. But what of that? Preachers are 
not supposed to drive fast horses, and, as for beauty, 
it is only skin-deep in man or beast. With good care 
and plenty of oats, Ben would no doubt improve in 
every way — so thought the parson, and he decided to 
keep the horse. 


Among the Maples 


109 


Now it happened that the parson had very little 
experience in tying knots of any kind, and his new 
horse soon took advantage of his ignorance. 

One morning when Mr. Melville went to the stable 
to feed Ben, he found the animal loose, but having a 
good time to himself. A bag of oats which had been 
left near the stall was partly devoured; Ben had had 
a veritable feast for breakfast, though he hadn’t 
cleaned up his plate. He was also well supplied with 
drink, for some one had left a tub, half full of spring 
water, only a few feet away from the oats. 

While the parson was worried and agitated at the 
appearance of things in the stable, poor Ben was 
meekly congratulating himself that he had found a 
luxurious home at last. He had, perhaps, never be- 
fore had a whole sack of grain set before him. Mr. 
Melville concluded that his horse must have exercise 
to work oflf such a big breakfast; so he drove Ben 
about twelve miles that day and saw no signs of the 
evil results which he had feared from the mishap of 
the morning. 

On the day following the parson and his wife drove 
to one of the homes of the congregation, about three 
miles distant. Ben appeared to be in his usual health, 
and showed as much speed as ever; but on the way 
home, Mr. Melville and his wife were both alarmed 
to find that Ben was hardly able to walk. They con- 
cluded that the poor horse was feeling his oats ” in 
the wrong way. After a tedious and torturing jour- 


110 


■Among the Maples 


ney up-hill and down-hill, the village was reached; 
the parson wished for the darkness, for he felt morti- 
fied at being seen driving such a lame horse. 

The next day Reuben Stout came to the rescue, and 
took poor Ben away in order to cure him, if possible. 
After two weeks’ doctoring, the horse was supposed 
to be well again and was brought back to the owner. 

But, whether from his recent misfortune or the 
abuse of earlier days, poor Ben soon began to lose 
flesh. As his equine ribs became more and more vis- 
ible, his feed was increased accordingly; then it was 
changed in quality as well as quantity, for the quan- 
tity seemed to have no effect in the way of hiding the 
horse’s ribs. 

For many weeks Mr. Melville tried various kinds 
of diet on his consumptive-looking horse ; but the only 
result that could be obtained from these experiments 
was the gradual disappearance of old Ben’s form and 
flesh. Even eighteen quarts of warm mash per day, 
with twelve to fifteen pounds of hay, only seemed to 
make Ben more hungry and more transparent. 

Then some wise heads of Renwicktown began to 
think that the parson was not giving his poor horse 
enough to eat. But the parson kept right on, paying 
little attention to criticisms, for he well knew that 
old Ben was more likely to die of gluttony than for 
want of food, according to his present diet. 

Besides living on the fat of the land, the parson’s 
horse was well supplied with medicine. Bottle after 


Among the Maples 


111 


bottle and package after package of wonder-working 
nostrums were poured into Ben’s stomach; his stable 
soon resembled a veterinary’s office. None of these 
dangerous-looking bottles and packages did the horse 
any harm; and it was this fact, rather than the ex- 
pectation of any benefit from them, that encouraged 
Mr. Melville to keep on trying them on his patient. 

At last Reuben Stout resolved to help the parson 
out of his embarrassment ; for he feared that it might 
hurt the minister’s reputation and influence in the com- 
munity to keep such an abused-looking animal. ‘‘ I 
know his handsome form wunt help his price any,” 
said Reuben, but many a gal has petted wuss lookin’ 
beasts than old Ben, an’ he may find a soft spot in 
some woman’s heart, that’ll give him a good home and 
a decent burial.” 

In a few days, Reuben succeeded in selling the 
horse at a fair price. The preacher lost thirty dollars 
on this first steed of his, but he gained an immense 
amount of patience and experience. 

After all, it was hard to part with old Ben. In one 
sense, he was a good boarder for he never sulked, 
and he never found fault with his victuals. He had 
given the parson and wife many a pleasant drive, and 
pulled them through the storms and drifts of the 
winter; and now, when he trotted down the road, on 
his way to a new master and a new home, some one 
in the manse watched him till he passed out of sight, 
and some one dropped a tear just for auld lang syne.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


MEETING AND PARTING 

r 

Reuben Stout was driving home with Cyclone one 
afternoon. He was on his way from Pisgah in Orange 
county, where he had been visiting some of his old 
friends and trying to do some horse-trading at the 
same time. The early spring had put the roads in 
fair condition for driving, though April had hardly 
dried up her tears and May was just beginning to 
show her verdant beauties. 

Those who had fleet horses were tempted to put 
them to the test on such a fine day and over such 
smooth roads. Reuben was driving at a lively pace 
and was wishing for a challenger to appear. 

When he had come within a mile of Renwicktown, 
he saw Luke Burney driving in front of him. Burney 
was walking his horse, and Mary Ferguson was on 
foot, apparently endeavoring to keep behind the vehicle 
in which Burney had invited her to ride. When Reu- 
ben drew near he heard Mary say, No, thank you, 
I prefer to walk, and I think you ought to know that 
by this time.’' 

Why so ? ” inquired Burney with a sneer. 


Among the Maples 


113 


Because I don’t want any more false reports cir- 
culated about me ; and because you have proved your- 
self an enemy to me/’ was the blunt reply. 

Before Burney could give an answer, Reuben had 
taken advantage of the wideness of the road and 
passed in front of the sorrel. At the same time he 
nodded an invitation to Mary to ride with him; this 
she gladly accepted and quickly stepped into Reuben’s 
buggy with that ease and agility which characterize 
the New England girl. 

Turning to Burney with a mischievous grin, Reuben 
shouted, “ Now, sonny, ye’ll hev to take my dust till 
we git to the city.” 

I’ll be if I will,” came the profane retort, 

scarcely audible to Reuben and Mary. 

Both horses started off like the wind, and for the 
first quarter of a mile the nose of the sorrel was kept 
close to Reuben’s ear. 

‘‘ That wunt do, nohow,” said Reuben to himself ; 
‘‘ Cyke, ye ole Mohammedan, I want ye to go ! ” 

Swish, crack! went the whip, and Cyclone obeyed 
his orders. The dust rose in clouds from the ‘‘Arab’s ” 
heels, and for a full half mile he earned his boasted 
surname as he flew around the turns of the winding 
road and up and down the hills like a steed of Saladin’s. 
The young sorrel was unable to keep such a pace, and 
he fell behind so far that he was invisible when the 
last half mile was begun by Cyclone. Luke’s poor 
driving and bad temper were much to blame for the 


114 Among the Maples 

defeat of his beautiful sorrel. The poor animal be- 
came excited, and when he reached the bridge that 
spanned the brook about half a mile from the village 
he was unmanageable. Luke was in a towering rage 
and the plunging, frightened animal pulled the buggy 
against the railing of the bridge. One of the wheels 
came off and Burney landed in a clump of blackberry 
bushes. The horse had the reins and he made for 
home with all the speed he could command. Buggy 
and harness were in a sad condition when the run- 
away reached the village, and pieces of the wreckage 
were strewed along the road. The sorrel arrived, 
unhurt, at his own stable door, almost as soon as his 
master got away from the troublesome briers. Luke 
was badly scratched but his bodily suffering was slight 
compared with the humiliation of his defeat. For 
the moment he cared little whether his pet horse came 
out dead or alive. His rage at Reuben Stout and 
Mary Ferguson knew no bounds and he resolved to 
get even with both of them, if he should have to wait 
for fifty years to accomplish his object. 

It is needless to say that Burney never dared to 
race with Reuben again, especially when Cyclone was 
the competitor. 


CHAPTER XV 


A woman’s eloquence 

The town of Renwick had no diamond mines, but 
she had good granite quarries ; she had also hidden 
gems of intellect. Some of these were destined to 
lie buried in obscurity. Many of them, however, 
were brought into the light of publicity, polished by 
religious and mental training, and made to shine in 
conspicuous places and in various callings. 

The little village did not send all of her brightest 
jewels away from home. It frequently happened that 
the lesser lights of the family were sent to college, 
while the brains of the home were kept on the farm 
or in the kitchen. 

It was Hannah Gillespie’s lot to stay at home. But 
Hannah was one of those gems that shine brightest 
in the dark, and show their worth even in obscurity. 
Her character was like the rugged granite on which 
it was cradled and developed. Hannah’s ideas of 
things were not all borrowed from books nor from 
other people’s notions. She could arrive at sharp con- 
clusions without the help of learning or logic. Her 
own strong intuition was her favorite teacher in mat- 


116 


^Among the Maples 


ters pertaining to this world. Though her mind was 
progressive in many ways, yet, in her opinion, the 
fashions of ’6i were good enough for ’91 and Hannah 
had the courage to live up to her opinions. 

There was very little that escaped Hannah’s eye, 
especially when anything appeared in the shape of an 
innovation. It was therefore an important event in 
her life when the old church of Renwicktown was 
about to be renovated. 

There was a difference of opinion among the mem- 
bers of the church in regard to what should be done 
and how much money should be spent in repairing the 
church building. 

The more cautious and conservative ones were in 
favor of making only necessary repairs. 

‘‘ The old pulpit and the old pews,” said they, must 
not be molested ; to remove them would be to trample 
on the sacred memory of our godly ancestors who 
worshiped in them for so many long years.” Hannah 
Gillespie was the champion of these sentiments. 

The greater portion of the congregation thought it 
best to make the church look as modern as possible, 
and both rich and poor among them offered to help 
the work along with liberal contributions. 

At one of the meetings which were held to discuss 
the question, Donald Murdock was in the chair. 

Hannah was busy just before the meeting began, 
giving instructions to her lieutenants, and sage advice 
to others who needed it. 


Among the Maples 


117 


Some of her friends, who wanted a modern church 
building, were urged by her to keep their tongues 
quiet in the meeting or to change their views. 

When the chairman shouted, This meetin’ will 
now come to order ! Hannah obeyed promptly by 
marching to her seat with rapid step. 

'' Now,’’ said the chairman, after a few preliminaries, 
‘‘ we are ready to take up the main question of re- 
pairin’ the church an’ I do hope we wunt waste no 
time or breath in discussin’ this question. We’ve ben 
too long discussin’ at it already, an’ now, brethren, 
let’s talk right straight to the p’int an’ don’t talk round 
and round the bush, but hit the nail on the head an’ 
be done with it right now. Wal, ye may think I’m 
a wastin’ time now myself ; that’s true, but I’m tryin’ 
to keep a dozen or more of ye from wastin’ a hul 
afternoon with this meetin’. Now we must keep in 
mind that some of us has got to be hum for chores 
in a couple of hours or so; the keows wunt wait for 
nobody’s long speeches. Wal, now, shall we repair 
the church, an’ how are we goin’ to do it? Are we 
goin’ to patch up the holes, an’ let the new patches 
laugh at the old places, or are we goin’ to make a 
clean job of it?” 

‘‘ Mr. Chairman,” said a rasping tenor voice, as the 
aged speaker rose slowly to his feet, ‘‘ there’s a good 
many in the church that wants to see it fixed up to 
look respectable, an’ we’re willin’ to pay for any re- 
pairs thet’s necessary for comfort. But I don’t see 


118 Among the Maples 

why anybody should want to sink money in these here 
modern improvements what ain't necessary, an' only 

spiles the looks of a church. Now if " 

Now, Brother MacCrie, yer out of order. I'm sorry 
to say; there's no motion 'fore the house, an' I ain't 
goin' to allow no talkin' without a motion — that's par- 
liamentary law." 

Good old Brother MacCrie had no more to say, 
except that he muttered, as he dropped into his seat. 
Wall — I declare, it's the fust time I was ever called 
disorderly in a meetin' — I declare, I shan't say another 
word." 

Duncan Whitelaw was the next speaker. His 
strong face told the force of his nature. Duncan was 
always making things go, even now, when his limbs 
were trembling with age. 

‘‘ Mr. Chairman, if it's a motion ye want, then I'll 
give ye one; I move that we instruct the Building 
Committee to have these walls an' ceilin' calcimined, 
an' to put in new pews, an' new carpet, an' a new 
pulpit an' platform, an' any other new thing that's 
within the reach of our buildin' fund." 

It was not without a strong effort that Hannah Gil- 
lespie kept her seat when such a motion was made 
and seconded. To her mind, these changes that were 
aimed at, amounted to vandalism and sacrilege. 

‘‘ The next thing'll be a new gospel an' a new creed," 
she whispered to Elder MacLean. After a few 
speeches in favor of Whitelaw's motion, Hannah, still 


Among the Maples 


119 


nursing her wrath to keep it warm/' saw the old pul- 
pit and the old pews slipping away from her. 

Her feelings could no longer be restrained. She 
rose, without a word, and walked to the door with a 
firm and rapid step that spoke more than her tongue 
could express. As she opened the door, Duncan 
Whitelaw called to her, and requested her, in a 
friendly tone, to stop till the close of the meeting. 

Duncan's words brought the climax, and the storm 
burst in all its fury ; it was a storm of feminine indig- 
nation and eloquence such as had never been heard 
within the historic walls of the Renwicktown church. 
Every word fell like a trip-hammer- on the ears of 
the astonished listeners : ‘‘ I shan't stay one minute 
longer ! " she shouted ; where's the use ? The hul 
thing's a goin' one sided, jest because there's some 
folks that hain't no mind of their own. Nice thing 
yer goin' to make out o' the church buildin', where 
yer forefathers worshiped; it'll be a wonder if they 
don't get up out of their graves afore the thing's fin- 
ished. These decent old pews were good enough for 
them, an' I'm sure they're good enough for sech Chris- 
tians as we have here to-day. I guess it wunt hurt 
our feet to walk over the same carpet that the ole 
folks walked over — they were mighty glad to get any 
carpet at all an' sit with cold feet through the hul ser- 
vice. I'd like to know what's the matter with that 
pulpit; it was only made a few years ago; for I can 
remember the very day it was put in, an' good Doctor 


120 


Among the Maples 


Gailey thought it was nice enough for him to preach 
in. It wunt help the sermons one mite to kick the 
old pulpit out of sight. Then ye’re goin’ to raise the 
church on stilts, so that the ole feeble folk can’t git 
to meetin’ without crawlin’ up a hul flight of stairs, 
an’ then ” 

'' No, no. Miss Gillespie,” interrupted Duncan 
Whitelaw, “ we’re goin’ to hev an elevator, an’ all the 
modern fixin’s.” 

Without deigning to reply, Hannah went out and 
closed the door after her. 

The audience could hardly recover from the spell 
of her fiery eloquence, but Whitelaw’s motion was 
carried by a large majority. 

For many months the brave Hannah continued the 
active leader of the opposition. It mattered little to 
her how great a majority she might have against her. 
It was always as easy for her to stand with the weaker 
side and lead a forlorn hope as it was for some others 
to follow the crowd. 

Yet when the battle was lost, Hannah’s Christian 
courage and wisdom were again displayed in another 
form : that was, when she opened the new church door 
and walked on the new carpet and sat in her new pew, 
to hear the same old gospel preached from the new 
pulpit. 

“ Don’t seem like the old Renwicktown church at 
all,” Hannah remarked to Hugh MacLean one Sab- 
bath day after meeting. ‘‘ I can’t have the same sacred 


Among the Maples 


121 


feelin’ I used to have, for I feel as if I was in Boston 
or somewhere in a foreign country with them new 
crooked pews, a-lookin’ cross-eyed at the pulpit/' 

Why, that's all the style now," said Hugh. 

You don't surely mean to change yer church an' 
yer religion to keep up with the times, do ye, Hugh 
MacLean?" 

Why, of course not, Hannah, what do ye think 
I be!" 

'' Wal, I do think ye're gettin' jest a little foolish 
in your old days; and you'll be sorry next December 
that ye took the old stoves out and dug a hole under 
the church to put a new patent heater in; ye’ll have 
colder feet in meetin' than your old father ever had; 
and it wun't be much of a sermon the parson'll give 
us when his lips is purple an' his teeth a chatterin' 
with the cold." 

“ But Angus McDonald says he can make us all 
sweat with them new heaters in the middle of February 
with the mercury forty below zero." 

'' Oh, yes ; I’m a thinkin' Angus'll sweat himself 
before he makes a fire warm enough for me to sit 
without my furs on." 


CHAPTER XVI 


EXCHANGING PULPITS 

Mr. Melville was enjoying a day’s rest with his 
family beside the mountain lake at Shiloh, ten miles 
from his home. He was near to the home of the 
Reverend Isaiah Black, the pastor of the Shiloh 
church, and he expected to visit him; but Mr. Black 
had gone away for a four weeks’ vacation; so the 
Melville family visited some of their intimate friends 
in Shiloh. On a Friday evening Mr. Melville was 
sitting on the lawn in front of Elijah Warden’s house, 
when Dr. Charnock drove up in a buggy. 

Brother Melville, you’re just the man I want to 
see,” said the doctor. 

Well, then, you’re just the man I want to see.” 

Very good,” replied the doctor, smiling. ‘‘ Do you 
know. Brother Melville, I’m so rushed this week that 
I really don’t feel able to get a sermon ready for Sab- 
bath. I’ve been visiting my sick members every day, 
and attending meetings every night this week, and 
here it’s Friday, and I can’t even think of a text for 
Sabbath; won’t you exchange with me in the morn- 
ing, or will it be inconvenient for you ? ” 


Among the Maples 


123 


Why, of course Til exchange, very willingly, if it's 
any help to you." 

'' Thank you ; I shall be so much indebted to you." 

'' Not at all, doctor, the favor is done to me, for it 
is just what I was wishing for." 

After arranging matters with Mr. Melville for the 
following Sabbath, the genial doctor turned his horse 
and drove home with a lighter heart; for the burden 
of a new sermon was removed, for the time being. 

As he entered his own home in Mount Hebron, Dr. 
Charnock remarked cheerfully to his wife, ‘‘ Well, 
dear, I have arranged to exchange pulpits with Brother 
Melville, of Shiloh, next Sabbath." 

Why, David, you mean Brother Black, of Shiloh, 
don't you?" 

But the happy parson was absent-minded and did 
not heed what his wife had said, so he made no reply. 

“ Well, it was only a slip of the tongue," thought 
the patient wife ; ‘‘ he went to Shiloh, I know, but 
he does get names and faces mixed up sometimes." 

^ Now it happened that the pastor of Shiloh was a 
very tall man, with light hair, while the pastor of 
Renwicktown was a small man with dark hair. So 
Mrs. Charnock was sure that the doctor could never 
mistake Mr. Melville for Mr. Black, and she said no 
more on the subject. 

When Sabbath morning came Andrew Melville was 
thankful that the sun was shining so brightly, and the 
air was so balmy. He had a drive of nearly ten miles 


124 


Among the Maples 


to Mount Hebron; but the fine roads, the ever-chang- 
ing landscape, and the odor of the evergreens, all 
tended to make the drive a pleasant one, and helped 
the preacher in his meditations. 

When half the distance was covered, Mr. Melville 
expected to meet Dr. Charnock, but he was not in 
sight. Another mile, and Mr. Melville began to won- 
der what other road the doctor could have taken to 
go to Renwicktown. 

At length Mount Hebron was reached, with no 
signs of Doctor Charnock. The lady of the manse 
was glad to see Parson Melville, yet there was a look 
of suppressed astonishment on the good woman's face ; 
for certain reasons she wanted to see some other 
preacher just at that time. 

‘'How long since the doctor left?" inquired Mr. 
Melville. 

“ About half an hour." 

“ Half an hour ! Why, he'll need a fleet horse to 
reach Renwicktown in time for the service ; what road 
did he take, or how did we miss each other ? " 

“ Well, indeed, Mr. Melville, I can't tell, and I won't 
say any more on that subject till I know more; " there 
was a faint smile in her countenance which betokened 
both amusement and perplexity. 

But where was Doctor Charnock? 

He had left his home in time for the morning ser- 
vice in Shiloh, only two miles from Mount Hebron! 

Reaching the quiet village, he saw no appearance 


Among the Maples 


125 


of the people going to church. He found the church 
closed, and Elder Crawford walking along the road 
in his working clothes. 

''How’s this, Brother Crawford? Why is your 
church not opened yet ? ” 

" We hain’t any meetin’ to-day, doctor.” 

" Why I why, how’s that ! I arranged an exchange 
with Brother Black for to-day.” 

" That can’t be, doctor ; why, Mr. Black has been 
away in Canada for more than a week, an’ he wunt be 
home for three more weeks.” 

" Oh, my ! What does this mean ! ” gasped the 
doctor, now thoroughly bewildered. 

" Say, doctor, I heard you were to exchange pulpits 
with Mr. Melville, in Renwicktown,” explained the 
elder. 

" Yes, yes ! Oh, what have I done 1 How could I 
mistake Melville for Black! Why I know both men 
as well as I know you. Brother Crawford. Just think 
of those good people waiting for me in Renwicktown 
church ten miles away ! Now, if I were only Sheridan 
I might save the day yet. Let me telephone to Ren- 
wicktown.” 

Elder Crawford went into his store and tried to 
call up some one in Renwicktown, but the telephone 
people were all in church, never imagining that Doc- 
tor Charnock was trying to speak to them from 
Shiloh. 

With a troubled heart the doctor turned his horse 


126 


Among the Maples 


and sped homeward, feeling that his personality 
amounted to somewhat less than nothing. 

When he reached his own barn he found Mr. Mel- 
ville preparing to return home, having conducted the 
morning service. 

Why, Brother Melville, what have I done ! ’’ ex- 
claimed the doctor. 

''Why, why, what have you done? Haven’t you 
been over to Renwick ? ” inquired Mr. Melville, be- 
ginning to suspect where the doctor had been. 

" No ! No ! ” gasped the excited preacher : " I went 
to Shiloh to preach for Brother Black, and now I 
just want to go down on my knees and beg forgive- 
ness.” 

" Nonsense ! ” said Mr. Melville with a broad smile, 
which broke into a hearty laugh. " The joke is on 
you this time, doctor, and nobody’s hurt, so don’t fret 
your soul over it for one moment.” 

But the doctor was inconsolable. 

None of the Renwicktown people except two had 
heard of the pastor’s arrangements for Sabbath morn- 
ing. The congregation, therefore, expected to hear 
their own preacher. 

When he did not appear there were looks of im- 
patience, then of wonder, then of fear in the audience, 
and half an hour was spent in silence. 

At last the suspense was partly removed when 
Elder Donald Murdoch rose and told the people that 
the pastor had gone to preach in Mount Hebron, and 


Among the Maples 


127 


that Doctor Charnock was to have preached in Ren- 
wicktown. But what has happened to the doctor 
or to our pastor, I cannot tell,'’ was his conclusion. 

When the facts became known there was no one 
who wanted to blame the mild and well-beloved Char- 
nock. The people knew that his sensitive nature 
would punish him more than he deserved. 

The congregation of Renwicktown had missed an 
able and soul-thrilling sermon, but the mistake of the 
doctor gave them something to smile over for many 
days. 

That scholarly divine did not fully recover from his 
strange experience for several weeks; and he could 
not be induced to face an audience in Renwicktown 
for a long time after, though Mr. Melville assured the 
doctor that the Covenanters loved him more than ever. 


CHAPTER XVII 


RECONCILIATION 

It was only a few days before Malcolm MacGregor’s 
departure for Burlington and the beginning of his 
college career. 

He had not called to see Mary since the night when 
he found Luke Burney there. Yet he longed to have 
his love affairs smoothed out as they had been in for- 
mer days. 

Every time he looked at the pretty blue necktie that 
Mary had given him to wear in college, his heart 
would long to be with her; and more than once he 
had almost yielded to the impulse to go and see her 
and confess to her that he was acting foolishly. But 
each time he hesitated and listened to the whisperings 
of his proud heart, Don’t go,” it counseled. You 
are the injured one, you mustn’t yield.” 

If it was hard for Malcolm to yield, it was just as 
difficult for Mary. The fact that Malcolm had been 
wronged and that she herself had caused him no little 
vexation, did not make her forget his unreasonable 
and unkind treatment of her. 

She was therefore determined to wait until Mai- 


Among the Maples 


129 


colm should see the error of his way. The latter 
sorely felt the need of some sound advice, for he was 
so soon to be separated, for a time, from home and 
those who were dear to him. He was wishing for a 
daysman who might place Mary’s hand in his, and 
help them both to bury the past few months of tor- 
ture and perplexity. 

Malcolm was soon to receive some advice from an 
unexpected quarter. Hannah Gillespie called on Mrs. 
MacGregor one morning, while Malcolm was fixing 
his trunk on the porch. 

Why, Malcolm, ye ain’t a-goin’ away so soon, be 
ye?” 

One more week, Hannah.” 

‘‘ My, oh my ! but I do hate to see ye a packin’ up 
to leave hum; though, of course. I’m awful glad to 
hev ye go to college, an’ I hope ye’ll git yer head full 
o’ lamin’, instid o’ nonsense. Why, it don’t seem 
but last year, Malcolm, when ye was in yer A, B, abs, 
an’ gittin’ slapped fer bringin’ doughnuts to school. 
Ye mustn’t forgit yer childhood, Malcolm, it’ll help 
to keep ye humble when ye git up in the world.” 

That’s a fact,” said Malcolm, smiling. 

Now, niy dear boy,” continued Hannah, as she 
seated herself on the porch, make up yer mind to 
stick to yer books, an’ don’t allow nothin’ to waste 
yer time or yer pap’s money in foolishness. I know 
ye hain’t asked fer my advice, but I’m jest givin’ it 
to ye free, ’cause a boy needs all the warnin’ he can 


130 


Among the Maples 


git, when he's a leavin' his mother to live amongst 
them brats o' students." 

Oh, the Burlington students always had a good 
name," said Malcolm, fearing that Hannah's words 
might add to his mother's uneasiness. 

‘‘ Wal, if they hev a good name I'm glad of it, but 
they're the fust students thet ever had; an' ye'll find 
mighty few angels amongst 'em even in Burlington; 
why I've heerd so much about them college chaps a 
drinkin' an' smokin' cigarettes till they hed no brains 
left, an' they hed to be sent to a school fer idiots." 

Sho ! Where did you ever hear that, Hannah ? 
'Tain't so. I never see a college man yet that wasn't 
a gentleman." 

Oh, yes, I suppose they're all very polite an' hev 
lots of etiquette, an' society airs, but it don't take much 
brains to learn them things. Yes, an' ye'll meet some 
o' them nice pretty boys in college, with a room to 
rent in the upper story, if it ain't full o' tom-foolery 
already. Then ye'll find wise heads, too, when ye go 
to Burlington, an' them's the kind to keep in with, my 
dear boy, if ye ever want to be a man." 

‘‘ That's right, Hannah, you stuck to your text that 
time." 

Now, Malcolm, ye mustn't neglect to write to hum 
when ye're at college. Ye orter send a letter every 
week, for ye know how yer father an' mother'll both 
be a frettin' theirselves sick, if they don't hear from 
ye. So I brought ye some paper an’ envelopes as I 


Among the Maples 131 

couldn't think of nothin’ else ye would need more’n 
these.” 

‘‘ Why, Hannah.” 

‘‘ Wal, never mind thankin’ me, it’s only a trifle 
compared to what I’d like to do fer ye ; but ye mustn’t 
think, my dear boy, that ye’ve got to write to me — 
that’s not what I’m after;” (and Hannah laughed 
at the thought). ‘‘Why if them chaps in Burlington 
ever found out that you was a writin’ to an old maid 
like me, they’d tease the life out of ye.” 

“ No danger of that,” said Malcolm, smiling. 

“ Wal, I want ye to use that fer love letters to yer 
mother. Of course ye’ll be sendin’ other love letters, 
too, I hain’t no doubt, but now, Malcolm, ye’re young 
yet, an’ ye’ve got plenty o’ time to do yer courtin’ 
when you git through studyin’. Better fall in love 
with yer books fust ; for when a boy gits ‘ girls ’ on 
the brain, he hain’t much room in his head for deep 
thinkin’. What do you say, Janet?” 

“ Weel, indeed, A think ye’re na’ far wrang,” re- 
plied Mrs. MacGregor, who was standing in the door- 
way. “ Of coorse, I hae nae doots aboot Malcolm 
behavin’ hissel, when he’s awa’ frae hame, but then, 
A’ll be worried for fear he’s lyin’ sick amang 
strangers.” 

“ Why, Janet MacGregor, what in the world should 
you worry for? Can’t you trust in Providence? 
Where’s yer faith gone to ? ” 

“ Ay, weel, that’s vera true, Hannah dear, but we’re 


132 Among the Maples 

no’ sendin’ the lad awa’ wi’oot oor prayers, an’ we 
ken that he’s safe in the ban’s o’ Providence; but, 
Hannah, dear, ye dinna ken a mither’s hairt.” 

'' Wal, now, Janet, if a ‘ mother’s heart ’ makes ye 
lose yer faith and courage, an’ helps ye to worry over 
yer boy when yer prayin’ fer him, then I’m mighty 
glad I ain’t a mother, an’ I don’t want to git away 
from single blessedness — but I’ve sot too long already ; 
the 'folks’ll think I’m lost. Now, Janet, stop yer 
worryin’ an’ begin to feel thankful ye’ve got a boy 
thet wants to know somethin’ besides hoein’ corn an’ 
drivin’ bosses. Malcolm’s jest as safe a thousand 
miles from your apron strings as he is right here.” 

When Hannah drove away, Malcolm began to re- 
flect on some of her sayings ; Better fall in love with 
yer books fust,” was certainly good advice, he thought, 
as he considered how his recent troubles had inter- 
fered with his studies. If his love for Mary should 
continue, it might hinder him through his college 
career ; there might be ‘‘ no room in his head for deep 
thinkin’ ” — so Hannah had told him, and her words 
kept ringing in his ears all day. ‘‘ But what if she 
did say it,” he thought, Hannah isn’t inspired, and 
she isn’t much of an authority on love affairs, anyhow.” 

Malcolm had occasion to go over to see Jack Doug- 
lass that same evening. If any human friend could 
clear the way for him, with a few words of common 
sense, Malcolm thought that friend was Douglass. 

"‘•A’ll be lonely whan ye leave us, Malcolm, for A 
dinna ken wha’ll tak yer place wi’me.” 


Among the Maples 


133 


Oh, there's always some one to take our place 
when a fellow drops out." 

'' Weel, but wha'll tak' care o' Mary?" 

‘‘ Dunno," said Malcolm, trying to be cheerful. 

“Toot, mon, hae ye na spoken till her yit?" 

“ No, not yet." 

“ What ! hae ye na made it up efter a' this time ? " 

“ No, not quite." 

“ Weel, Malcolm MacGregor, ye're the dourest 
[most stubborn] lad I ever did see; the first thing 
ye know she'll slip through yer fingers a' thegither, 
an' ye'll na fin' anither like her in a twal-month, noo 
A'm warnin' ye." 

“ But she ought to speak first." 

“ Speak first ! Na, na ; niver ! if she has the gump- 
tion A think she has. A wummin's the equal o' ony 
mon, an' she's far superior tae maist men. Dinna 
forget that a lass has her self-respeck tae luk efter. 
Ye can easily forgie her for thinkin' ye warna an 
angel ; that showed her guid sense, mon dear ; a wum- 
min's a gye dunce, whan she doesna see a mon's 
failin's." 

“ So you think it's my duty to go and see her, and 
acknowledge my fault for staying away ? " 

“ That's what A'd dae mesel ; an' dae it afore some 
ither lad daes it for ye; then ye'll study a' the better 
wi' that load afif yer hairt; for it's easy tae see that 
yer heed's na vera clear, since that trouble began, noo 
A'm tellin' ye." 


134 


Among the Maples 


About half an hour after Malcolm and Jack parted 
for the night, there was a gentle knock at the door 
of Joshua Ferguson’s home. 

Mary rose from her needle-work to answer the 
knock. When she opened the door and saw Malcolm 
standing on the porch she was somewhat startled ; but 
she quickly recovered herself, as she said cheerfully, 
‘‘ Why, is that you, Malcolm ? Come in and warm 
yourself ; it’s quite chilly to-night.” 

Malcolm hardly knew what to say, and his voice 
trembled when he replied : 

Yes, a little mite chilly, but I don’t feel it after 
walking up the hill.” 

Malcolm was kept busy for a few minutes answer- 
ing questions from Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson in regard 
to his leaving home. 

All hands were soon in good spirits, and Malcolm 
was almost forgetful of his real errand; nor did he 
feel, when he thought of it, that he had an unpleasant 
task before him ; for Mary, at her needle- work, never 
appeared so charming in his eyes. 

A few words from her lips and a few smiles from 
her winsome and womanly countenance soon rescued 
him from the terrors of Hannah Gillespie’s sober logic. 
Cupid easily scored another victory, and Malcolm was 
convinced that Jack Douglass’s theory was the right 
one. 

When they had chatted for half an hour Joshua in- 
vited Malcolm to join him in a game of checkers; 


Among the Maples 


135 


the latter sat next to Mary at the table ; but this pleas- 
ure did not help his moves on the checker-board; for 
Elder Ferguson beat him in three straight games 
though Malcolm was the better player of the two. 

What ails ye to-night? said Josh; I’m a leetle 
mite suspicious that ye’re drawin’ me on, so as to give 
me a lickin’ at the tail end, hey ? ” 

No, I’m playin’ straight,” said MacGregor. 

‘‘ Wal, ye hain’t played any of yer famous tricks on 
me yet, but I ’spect ye’ll be givin’ me two an’ takin’ 
four, purty soon.” 

‘‘ Not much danger, if you watch yourself.” 

Malcolm did not want Josh to think that love was 
affecting his mental powers; so he settled down to 
business and succeeded in taking the last two games. 

“ Yes, I thought you’d git yer revenge afore ye was 
through with me,” said Josh, as he put the checkers 
away. 

These two victories gave Malcolm more spirit to win 
another kind of victory when he began to talk with 
Mary. 

They were sitting by themselves in the cosy little 
parlor, while ‘‘ Uncle Josh ” was enjoying the daily 
Boston paper in the next room and Mother Ferguson 
was fussing in the kitchen. 

Malcolm felt that it was much easier to begin a 
lover’s quarrel than to heal it up again. He did not 
know where or how to begin the reconciliation. 

For a moment his courage forsook him, and he al- 


136 


Among the Maples 


most wished he had stayed at home. He was afraid 
to speak because of the peculiar feeling in his throat ; 
and he wondered why it was that his strong nerves 
should tremble so in the presence of a harmless and 
handsome girl. 

‘‘ Say, Mary,” he ventured, after a few moments of 
painful stillness. 

‘‘ Well,” said she. 

Why — I was goin’ to say ” 

“ Well, what were you going to say ? ” 

There was a twinkle in her eye, as she rocked to 
and fro in the old chair. Malcolm soon saw the sun- 
light playing among the roses of her cheeks and he 
drew his chair a little closer to Mary’s rocker. 

‘‘ Mary, let’s be good friends again,” said he, taking 
her hand in his. 

‘‘ Why not ? ” said she. 

In the next room Uncle Josh was silently reading 
the daily account of the Cuban insurrection. In the 
midst of the roar of Spanish guns, the old Yankee 
caught the sounds of joy and peace in his own home; 
looking up from the paper for a moment he smiled as 
he said to himself, I’m glad o’ that — I was young 
myself onct.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES 

Malcolm walked down the long gentle slope to the 
village, thinking what an eventful day it had been for 
him. 

But the important events of that day were not com- 
pleted yet, though the stillness of the night seemed to 
say that the day was done. He was half way down 
the hill when his ear caught the sound of prancing 
hoofs. He stood still and listened. Nearer and nearer 
came the sound, and though he could see nothing but 
darkness, he judged that the horse and rider would 
soon pass him. 

He had barely stepped to one side when the horse 
went by on a full gallop, just grazing Malcolm’s arm. 
A few more leaps, then the steed stumbled and fell; 
there was a deep groan, and then all was still again. 

Malcolm rushed forward, groped around in the 
darkness and soon found the horse lying helpless on 
the side of the road ; the rider was thrown several yards 
in front of the horse, and Malcolm, after a careful 
search in fear and trembling, stumbled over the un- 
conscious form of a man. 


138 


Among the Maples 


Malcolm spoke to him, shook him by the arm, but 
no answer came. Taking out his match-box, he struck 
a light, and to his horror he looked into the pallid feat- 
ures of Luke Burney. Fearing the worst, Malcolm 
tried again to rouse Luke to consciousness, but all in 
vain. 

Not daring to leave the prostrate form for a mo- 
ment, and beginning to realize what a terrible thing it 
would be if Luke should die at such a time, Malcolm 
bent over him, put his strong arms around him, and 
bore him away down the hill to the house of Doctor 
MacNabb. 

The doctor was soon working over his new patient, 
and administering restoratives. 

Doctor, is he dead ? ” was Malcolm’s anxious ques- 
tion. 

'' Dead ? No ; no more’n you be,” was the blunt reply 
of the veteran healer. 

All hands breathed the more freely when the doctor 
spoke, and Luke soon opened his eyes and began to 
moan. 

‘‘ Where — where am I? ” 

Yer right here, my boy, an yer better off than ye 
were ten minutes ago,” said the doctor ; ye’ve had 
a tumble from yer boss, an’ it’s hard to tell which of 
ye got the worst of it.” 

Luke groaned with the pain in his right arm, which 
was fractured, and he asked faintly, ‘‘ Am I badly hurt, 
doctor ? ” 


Among the Maples 


139 


Well, no, not as bad as I thought ye were, but ye 
wunt move round nor gallop bosses for a few days, 
anyhow; it’s a good thing Malcolm found ye when 
he did.” 

Malcolm ! did he find me ? ” 

He did, and carried ye down here, just as though 
ye were a bag o’ salt.” 

Luke closed his eyes and uttered a low groan. 
When he looked up again he saw Malcolm standing 
near. 

Malcolm stooped down and spoke to him as tenderly 
as a woman: 

‘‘ That was a nasty fall you got, Luke ; I was afraid 
you weren’t worth picking up, when I reached you.” 

‘‘Neither I was, Malcolm; why didn’t you let me 
lie and rot ? ” 

“ Oh, no, my dear boy, I never thought of doing 
that,” so saying, he took Luke’s hand in his, and looked 
into his eyes with tender pity. 

“ Malcolm,” said Luke, after a few moments, “ for- 
give me.” 

“ Certainly, Luke, I’ve forgiven you long ago ; don’t 
think of that now ; keep quiet and cheerful.” 

“ But, Malcolm, I’m an awful fellow, and this ain’t 
half of what I deserve.” 

“ Well, we’re all sinners, Luke, and we all deserve 
a good deal worse than we get ; ft isn’t the worst people 
that have the most trouble . you know.” 

The next day Luke was removed to his home. It 


140 


^Among the Maples 


was found that his shoulder-blade was broken, as well 
as his arm, and there were fears of his being injured 
internally. 

Malcolm helped to nurse Luke during the few days 
that remained before he was to start for Burlington. 

Mary was also a daily visitor at Mrs. Burney’s dur- 
ing the first week of Luke’s illness. She always 
brought comfort and cheer to the patient, and to his 
poor, distressed mother. Luke felt the kindness of 
those whom he had injured as ‘‘ coals of fire upon 
his head ” ; but he knew the coals were not meant to 
consume him. 

So artists melt the sullen ore of lead. 

By heaping coals of fire upon its head ; 

In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow. 
And pure from dross the silver runs below.” 

During one of the nights when Malcolm was watch- 
ing with the sufferer, Luke was very restless. His 
lips were seen to move, though his eyes were closed. 
Malcolm, as he stooped down and listened, could hear 
the familiar line: 

Who doth not slander with his tongue.” 

Malcolm knew the verse; he remembered when it 
was sung last in church, and he recalled the circum- 
stances. 

Now it seemed that the song which brought com- 


Among the Maples 


141 


fort to his own heart on that occasion might possibly 
be touching a responsive chord in the heart of the 
sufferer. 

Luke’s head moved from side to side on the pillow 
as though he were trying to find a more comfortable 
position ; then great drops of sweat stood on his brow 
and his breathing became heavy. 

^‘Are you suffering?” inquired Malcolm. 

Not much/’ was the painful answer. 

‘‘ Can’t you sleep ? ” 

‘‘No; I wish I could.” 

‘‘ Let me send for the doctor/’ said Malcolm, for he 
saw that Luke must be suffering greatly either from 
bodily pain or mental agony. 

The patient whispered a few words in Malcolm’s 
ear; the latter immediately left the room and called 
Mrs. Burney to watch until he returned. 

It was past midnight when young MacGregor sped 
through the quiet, slumbering village on his errand of 
mercy. 

The only signs of life that could be easily discerned 
at such an hour were the light in Jerry Brown’s win- 
dow and a few growls and barks from Wilson’s big 
mastiff. Nancy Brown was soon at the window when 
she heard the warning notes of old Duke ” ; she 
guessed that some one must be very sick when she 
caught sight of the tall man, just as he was hurrying 
past the street lamp at the corner. 

Both Jerry and Nancy were watching anxiously at 


142 [Among the Maples 

the window when Malcolm returned a few minutes 
later, accompanied by his father. 

‘‘ Can’t tell who they be at this time o’ night,” said 
Mrs. Brown. 

‘‘ One of ’em is Mac MacGregor sartin,” was Jerry’s 
positive assertion. 

Can’t be — for Mac is over at Burney’s to-night, 
stayin’ up with Luke.” 

Wal, ye can’t see him at Burney’s, but I kin see 
him right thar, unless it’s his ghost walkin’ past the 
church, and the other feller is big enough for a Mac- 
Gregor too — I believe it’s David.” 

Mebbe yer right, Jerry, an’ mebbe Luke’s a dyin’ 
an’ wants David to talk to him about the next world.” 

I guess yer mistaken this time,” said Jerry, ‘‘ young 
Burney ain’t agoin’ to die jes’ yet, an’ he ain’t sendin’ 
for no MacGregor when there’s two preachers in 
town.” 

‘‘Wal, it wouldn’t be the first dyin’ man that has 
I sent fer Elder MacGregor to pray fer ’em an’ read the 
‘ scriptures, an’ expound ’em, too ; he’s as good as any 
preacher when it comes to that.” 

“ Dare say he is ; but I’m a thinkin’ young Burney 
wunt want the elder to talk repentance to him unless 
he’s afraid he’s goin’ to die.” 

‘^Yer too hard on Luke, so ye be, Jerry; there’s 
wuss fellows than ever he was, an’ after all, it’s often 
the hardest cases that get salvation first when the sleek 
and decent sinners can’t be tetched by nuthin’.” 


Among the Maples 


143 


While this lively dialogue was going on, Malcolm 
and his father were walking briskly towards Mrs. 
Burney’s house. 

When David MacGregor grasped the trembling, 
outstretched hand of the sufferer, and looked into his 
troubled countenance, he knew that there was a fierce 
struggle being waged in the heart of the young man. 

‘‘ My young freen,” said David tenderly, “ ye ken 
noo what Sinai is, an’ ye hear the awfu’ thunners o’ a 
broken law — but that’s na conversion; it’s only the 
terrors o’ the law; ye mauna sty there, an’ ye mauna 
go back ; hurry on till ye see Calvary, for ye’re na safe 
till ye reach it. ‘ He was wounded for our transgres- 
sions,’ aye. He bled for you,^^ 

In plain, but forcible words the pious Scot explained 
the way of salvation to the sin-sick soul and gave him 
many of the most comforting promises to think over. 

Luke Burney never forgot that half hour that David 
MacGregor spent with him at the very turning point 
of his life. 

When he rose, three weeks later, from his bed of 
suffering, he rose to new joys and new aims in life. 

On the following communion Sabbath, when he took 
his place with the other communicants at the table for 
the first time, there was no one in the church who 
dared to deny that young Burney was in his proper 
place. None of the elders would refuse him a seat at 
the Lord’s table on that day, though he forgot to bring 
his lead ‘‘ token ” with him. 


144 Among the Maples 

The little token was, in fact, losing its reputation 
among the Covenanters of Renwicktown. It was not 
surprising, then, that Hugh MacLean spoke as he did 
at the meeting of session after the communion ser- 
vices : 

Do ye think that a new convert,’’ said Hugh, sech 
as Luke Burney needed a bit o’ lead to prove his 
religion ? ” 

‘‘ Na, na,” grunted David MacGregor. 

Wal, I guess not,” continued Hugh ; ‘‘ an’ the elder 
that would keep a man like that from communion, jes’ 
because he hadn’t the token, has an awful lot to answer 
for, in my judgment.” 

“ Ay, in the last judgment, too,” said MacGregor. 

The young man’s token was stamped on his coun- 
tenance,” remarked the moderator. 

‘‘ Amen,” was the answer from quiet Elder Gordon. 

''And some had the lead token that didn’t have 
t’other,” blurted Hugh. 

"Ye mustn’t judge,” broke in Donald Murdoch; " if 
any one hadn’t the true token, then we shouldn’t give 
’im the lead one ; an’ when a man tries to sell a spavin’d 
boss for a hundred an’ fifty dollars an’ has his church 
token in his vest pocket, it ain’t the fault o’ the token 
but it’s the fault of the Church that gives sech a man 
a seat among honest folks.” 

" Oh, but we canna pit a mon oot o’ the kirk for 
ivery wee fau’t, Donald ; we wad root up the wheat wi 
the tares, A’m thinkin’, gin we punished oor members 


Among the Maples 


145 


for sellin’ a puir nag for a guid price; it’s no richt, 
mind ye, an’ it ought tae be rebuked, but the kirk should 
no be blamed for the mean tricks o’ her members. Tae 
be sure it wad gar a Christian greet tae see a mon 
wi’ a token in his loof [palm] an’ a lee in his mooth 
an’ A’m no sure but he’d be better wi’oot the token.” 

But that ought to keep him from lying,” said 
Donald. 

‘‘Ye wad think sae, but it works the ither wy wi’ 
some folks, for A kenn’t a mon in Aberdeen that aye 
took a wee drop mair o’ the gin bottle an’ wad tell 
bigger lees on the day afore communion than ’maist 
o’ the ither days o’ the year.” 

Then the moderator requested Donald Murdoch to 
close the meeting of session with a short prayer. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THROUGH THE FLAMES 

The prayer meetings in the school-house on Calton 
Hill were well attended even in mid-winter. 

There was enough of similarity in the various 
creeds of the people on the hill to make these meetings 
harmonious. At the same time there was enough of 
differences to keep the meetings from growing dull or 
monotonous. 

The school-house was near to Betsy Cameron’s 
home, and the prayer meetings afforded her an op- 
portunity to do a little home mission work. 

Even when the snow was deep, and the mercury 
below zero, Betsy might be seen plowing through the 
drifts, sometimes on foot, sometimes in her sleigh, 
making pop-calls on the neighbors, urging them to 
attend the meetings. 

When any one tried to excuse himself for not going 
to the meeting he was in danger of a sharp rebuke 
from Betsy, who could puncture excuses like bubbles 
and make them appear both empty and wicked. 

Among those who felt the weight of Betsy’s rebuke 
for non-attendance was Ezra Knox. Ezra was the 


Among the Maples 


147 


son of pious parents but had grown careless about 
religious things ; now that he had reached middle life 
and still remained indifferent to the things beyond this 
world, Betsy became anxious about him; she deter- 
mined to ask him to come to the prayer meetings. 

‘‘ I can’t go very well ; it hurts me to go out nights,” 
was Ezra’s answer to the invitation. 

See here, Ezra Knox,” said Betsy, if I was the 
prophet Elijah, you wouldn’t dare give sech an excuse 
as that.” 

‘‘Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Why! because Elijah would look you straight in 
the eye an’ he would say, ‘ Ezra, thou best ! ’ Now, my 
dear man, see here ! It don’t hurt ye to go out nights 
when ye visit Mose Paden over in Spruce Holler an’ 
git home at eleven or twelve o’clock ; an’ it don’t hurt 
ye a mite to go out nights an’ stay at the store-court 
till yer poor hoss is nigh frozen waitin’ fer ye; now 
Ezra, ye know if that meetin’ in the school-house was 
turned into a big concert or an oyster supper or a 
farmer’s meetin’ ye would be among the first to git 
there, if ye had to walk three miles — I know ye, Ezra, 
like a book; but it hurts ye most awful to walk half 
a mile to meet the Lord and to prepare for the next 
world. Ezra, let me ask ye a question.” 

“Wal, go ahead; what is it?” 

“ Wal, when yer last summons comes — an’ it’s a corn- 
in’, Ezra — when He tells ye to go an’ meet Him face 
to face, d’ye think ye’ll say, ‘ I got no time to go ; ’ 


148 Among the Maples 

or, ‘it hurts to go out into that cold, dark, eternal 
night ’ — will ye say it then ? 

Ezra's smile had vanished and his face wore a 
troubled look as he said quietly, “No, I guess not"; 
then he walked over to Mose Paden's and told 
him some of the things that Betsy had said to 
him. 

It happened about that time that Malcolm Mac- 
Gregor was home from college for the Christmas 
holidays. Betsy urged him to come to the hill meet- 
ings and bring Mary with him to help in the singing. 

Malcolm and Mary were both at the next meeting, 
and Betsy's joy knew no bounds when she saw two 
others walk into the schoolroom with their lanterns 
and take seats in the rear ; it was Ezra Knox and Moses 
Paden ! 

The singing that night was excellent, as it usually 
was when Mary's strong, clear voice took the lead. 

The subject before the meeting was: “Solomon's 
wise choice." 

Betsy's remarks were lengthy, yet as clear and 
pointed as ever, for Solomon was one of her favorite 
Bible characters. 

In replying to the question, whether Solomon was 
lost or not, she quoted scripture with such aptness as 
to completely silence two men who argued that Solo- 
mon was lost. 

Then Betsy showed to one of her opponents that if 
his father had treated him as he wanted the Lord to 


Among the Maples 149 

treat Solomon, no one would think that such a man 
deserved the name of ‘‘ father/’ ‘‘ If your father could 
forgive such a wild boy as you once was, d’ ye think 
that the Father above don’t love His prodigal sons 
jes’ as much — an’ ten times more?” 

Betsy had just closed her remarks when the school 
door opened, and a shrill voice inquired, “ Is Betsy 
Cameron here ? ” 

She is,” said Mr. Melville. 

“ Why, Betsy ! ” exclaimed the terrified woman, 
‘‘ your house is a burnin’ down to the ground ! ” 

Poor Betsy was dumbfounded for the moment, but 
her courage did not forsake her ; her only answer was 
a long, surprised O — oh ! ” 

The meeting was immediately dismissed and the 
men rushed to the scene of the fire. 

The brave little woman, with a heavy heart, walked 
calmly and deliberately out into the bitter night. She 
looked, almost stoically, at the bright flames, where 
her peaceful home had stood but a few minutes 
before. 

As she came nearer to the fire she saw the flames 
mounting higher and higher, and she knew that the 
dearest of her earthly possessions were going up in 
smoke. Her heart began to ache as she thought of the 
heirlooms and little treasures, so precious to her be- 
cause of their history, but now doomed to destruction. 

The six or eight men were fighting the fire with 
reckless courage, but the small bucket-brigade only 


150 


Among the Maples 


seemed to be amusing and feeding the hungry flames 
with their vain efforts. 

'' Wal, it’s bound to go up, an’ the brave boys can’t 
stop it — take keer, there, George and Malcolm, don’t 
ye go too near! I’d ruther see the house bum up 
than hev any of you boys hurt.” 

‘‘ Too bad, too bad,” said Malcolm sadly, as he 
looked at the falling timbers and then at Betsy; his 
own face was scorched and besmeared from his strug- 
gle with the flames. 

Oh, it might a ben a great deal wuss, boys. Ye 
see I’ve got my barn an’ my boss an’ cow left, yes, an’ 
my nice little farm, too.” 

Then a sudden joy leaped into Betsy’s heart as she 
saw the fiery tongues reaching farther into the dark- 
ness. 

“ Now, what a picture that is 1 ” she exclaimed. 
‘‘ Wal, if we can’t do no more we kin be thankful fer 
that light in the darkness ; ye see, boys, there’s a bright 
side even to a home burnin’ up. I’d feel purty poor 
to-night if I didn’t hev another home that the fire 
can’t burn.” 

There were hospitable homes that cold night on the 
hill which gladly opened their doors for Betsy and 
willing hands were ready to help her in her hour of 
need. 

The ruins of her old house were not allowed to 
mock her sorrow very long. Like the fabled 
‘‘ Phoenix,” a new home soon rose out of the ashes 


"Among the Maples 


151 


of the old. One of Renwicktown’s benefactors sup- 
plied the lumber, others hauled it, and three or four 
carpenters plied their hammers and saws so deftly that 
Betsy was sitting by her own fireside again, a few 
weeks after the disaster. 

As might be expected of one of her creed, Betsy 
Cameron was very strict in her observance of the Sab- 
bath. In this she was more Puritanical than any of 
the Puritan stock of her day, especially in New Eng- 
land. Oliver Cromwell himself might have pleaded 
guilty of Sabbath desecration, had he known how the 
fourth commandment could be kept by a lowly Cov- 
enanter of the nineteenth century. In the little Ver- 
mont cottage on the hillside there were no unnecessary 
cooking, no dish-washing, no visiting and no secular 
reading done on the Lord's day. Even the secular 
columns of the religious paper were consistently and 
persistently shunned by Betsy as being no better than 
the daily newspaper for Sabbath reading. Only once 
in her lifetime was this woman of ‘‘ true blue " found 
desecrating the Sacred day by worldly employment. 
Betsy had in some way lost her count of the days of 
the week. On a certain day in the month of June she 
went out as usual to work on her little farm. Accord- 
ing to Betsy's reckoning it was Saturday, and even 
the unusual tranquillity of the day did not make her 
suspicious of any blunder on her part. The church 
bells pealed forth their first call to worship, but Betsy 
either did not hear them or explained their summons 


152 Among the Maples 

to suit herself. By and by Isaiah Paden drove past 
the field where the good woman was hard at work 
among her corn and pumpkins. 

‘‘ What’s this yer doin’, Betsy ? ” shouted Isaiah. 

What would I be doin’ but makin’ a livin’ jes’ like; 
you hev to do.” 

‘‘ But I didn’t think a Covenanter made his livin^ 
on the Sabbath day,” said Isaiah, with an irrepressible 
smile playing over his face — “ since when did ye 
change yer religion, Betsy ? ” 

'' Isaiah Paden, I hevn’t changed my religion one 
jot or one tittle from what it was when John Knox 
was preachin’ the Reformation principles.” 

Wal, if John Knox saw you workin ’ to-day he’d 
give ye as big a tongue lashin’ as he gave to Queen 
Mary for goin’ to hear mass.” 

‘‘Now, what’s wrong with ye, Isaiah? ye must be 
off on a lark to-day, with yer best suit o’ clo’es on.” 

“ I tell ye, Betsy, I’m off for church, an’ that’s 
where you’d better be goin’, too, if ye want to save 
yer reputation. Don’t ye know it’s the Sabbath day ? ” 

Isaiah gave a hearty laugh as he saw Betsy’s look 
of bewilderment, and then he hurried on to church. 

“ I deeclare now if somebody ain’t a big fool to- 
day; an’ it’s either me or Paden,” said Betsy to her- 
self. Then, as she saw two more spruce-looking ve- 
hicles coming down the road, she lost her courage and 
beat a hasty retreat to the house, where she examined 
and revised her calendar. Then she sat down and 
read one of John Bole’s sermons. 


CHAPTER XX 


CHICKAMAUGA 

The cry of ‘‘ war with Spain roused the martial 
spirit and the patriotism of the boys of Caledonia 
county. 

The same stubborn courage that surprised and 
stunned Napoleon at Waterloo, and sunk the French 
and Spanish ships at Trafalgar, was still to be found 
in the Scotch Yankees of Renwicktown. 

Malcolm’s three years in college had improved his 
personal appearance and bodily strength no less than 
his mental culture. He was easily the leader of his 
class on the campus, and was one of its best students, 
particularly in the sciences. 

The fact that he was working his way through the 4 
university helped him to appreciate study more than 
sports. 

When the call came for volunteers, Malcolm readily 
consented to go, and went to Camp Olympia with 
the company of militia which he had joined a few 
years before. 

The quiet little village, which he was still proud 
to call “home,” was thrown into a fever of excite- 


154 lAmong the Maples 

merit when it was reported that Malcolm MacGregor 
had really enlisted. 

Some said it was wrong for him to break his 
mother’s heart for the sake of a few Cuban rebels. 
Others said it was a shame to throw away an educa- 
tion for a soldier’s coat. 

But Janet MacGregor was a true descendant of 
those Highland women who, for centuries, had taught 
their sons to obey the mandate of the fiery cross. She 
had in her veins the blood of the Pedens and Cargills 
and Camerons who, in perilous times, had learned to 
pay the dearest price for their rights and their liberty. 

So, the brave Scottish mother, while her heart- 
strings were bleeding with anxiety, did not hesitate 
to send her son forth, sword in hand, and bid him 
wield it bravely against Spanish tyranny. 

The few days before Malcolm started for Camp 
Olympia were trying days for Mary Ferguson. At 
first a deep shadow of disappointment and fear came 
over her; fear — lest this sudden separation might be 
the final one; disappointment — at the cruel interrup- 
tion of Malcolm’s studies. 

She had fondly pictured him, in her hopes and 
dreams, as a prominent physician or, perhaps, a uni- 
versity professor, or a college president. 

Now, alas ! he is (she feared) leaving all this, throw- 
ing away these high honors, exchanging these mighty 
accomplishments, for what? — for a corporal’s uniform, 
a bloody field of strife and, perhaps, a lingering death 
in a Spanish prison ! 


Among the Maples 155 

But poor Mary was more than an ambitious 
dreamer; she was brave, she was patriotic; she kept 
her spirits up as best she could, and sang her sweet- 
est songs for Malcolm, even when her heart was 
breaking. 

When, at last, the parting came, she could only 
whisper, with quivering lips, God keep — protect — 
Malcolm — home again,'' and she slipped a small pack- 
age into his breast pocket. 

As he left her house that beautiful afternoon in 
May, her eyes followed him until he was some dis- 
tance down the hill and his blue coat disappeared 
among the fresh foliage of the trees. 

‘‘ Will he come back," she thought, as she brushed 
the tears away, “ and will he be as straight and as 
handsome and as pure as he is now ? — God grant it ! " 

Then, as she peered through the trees for one last 
glimpse of the vanishing form, another thought forced 
itself upon her mind : Why should he go — he that 
is so useful, so noble, so good, to leave so many friends 
and home and mother and church, while scores of 
young men, neither useful, noble nor good, with few 
friends, with bad homes and no precious ties nor ach- 
ing hearts to leave behind them — these worthless char- 
acters are kept safe at home — why? " 

She could not answer her own question just then; 
for her mind was confused and her heart, she con- 
fessed, was a little rebellious. 

But a few months would unfold some of these 


156 


Among the Maples 


mysteries and show Mary how the Great Designer 
can bring beauty and symmetry out of the crooked 
and confused lines of daily life. 

The welcome accorded the '' Green Mountain Boys 
as their train rolled on through the South country was 
in sharp contrast with the reception of '6i. Cheers 
greeted them in ’98 at every stopping place, and bou- 
quets were among the common mercies of each day. 
At Alexandria, in Virginia, the colored people crowded 
the station in their eagerness to get a look at the Ver- 
monters as they passed through. When their train 
stopped near the old battlefield of Manassas, an aged 
negro, who had been a slave, shook hands with Mal- 
colm very heartily and soon got into a friendly con- 
versation with the boys. The dark features of the 
old man became radiant with enthusiasm as he told 
how ''the Yanks” fought at Manassas. Addressing 
MacGregor he asked, " Wha's yo' name, MassT? ” 

" My name’s MacGregor.” 

" Wal, Mass’r Gregor, f’om wat Tse done seen ob 
yo’ Vamont sojahs in de late wah, Tse mighty shuah 
dem Spanish debils ain’t got no show to lib much 
longa’, when de Green Mountain boys git der eyes 
on ’em. May de Good Lawd bless ye all, an’ cubber 
yo’ head in de day ob battle, an’ gib ye de wata out 
ob de Rock in de willerness an’ fill yo’ souls wif de 
manna f’om de clouds.” 

" Thank you. Uncle,” said the boys, with a cheer. 

" Say, Mass’r Gregor,” he continued, just as they 


Among the Maples 


157 


were boarding the train, '' I’se been a Christian fo' 
thirty year, an’ I do hope you is one too.” 

Yes, Uncle, that’s what I hope too.” 

Bless de Lamb ! den I know, if yo’ nebber come 
back f’om Cuby, dis ole nigger ’speck to see Cap’n 
Gregor in glory ! ” and he waved a farewell to the 
soldier-boys with his old hat. 

When the train reached Hickory the local drum- 
corps was on hand and played Yankee Doodle ” and 

Marching Through Georgia.” 

The young ladies turned out in surprising numbers 
and displayed their patriotism and generosity by pre- 
senting bouquets and even small articles of jewelry 
to the soldiers. These gifts were much appreciated 
as tokens of Southern loyalty and goodwill. 

As soon as the Vermont regiment was well settled 
in the camp at Chickamauga, Malcolm sent the fol- 
lowing letter to his folks at home : 

Camp Thomas, Chickamauga, 

March 24, 1898. 

My Dear Father and Mother : I can’t realize that I 
am so far from you, away down here in Georgia. We 
arrived in camp this morning. O, how I would like 
one drink of Vermont spring water! Now I know 
what poor David suffered when he was in the cave 
of Adullam. Any three of our boys would dare to do 
what David’s three captains did, just for a drink of 
pure water. There is none here that is fit to drink. 
But I guess we will get used to the water and the heat 
and other queer things. 

Several snakes have been killed in our company 


158 


Among the Maples 


street. There are other creeping things, like lizards, 
that annoy us in our slumbers. Our camp is in an oak 
grove. The ground is rocky and the boys are having 
a tough time driving in the stakes. I hear that a 
water-main is being laid to the park from some dis- 
tance. The boys are in pretty good health, but some 
are suffering from colds and headaches after the long 
ride in the hot cars. 

The farmers here are making money out of their 
strawberries. The soldiers make good customers when 
there's anything juicy to buy, and a good many are 
buying the juice that comes in kegs. Several of our 
company, who never tasted any kind of strong drink 
before, are taking beer rather than drink this mud. 
Don’t worry about me, but pray for me (as I know 
you do every day) and for all our Vermont boys in 
camp, that we may be kept from the one curse of our 
army life. Oceans of love to your own dear selves 
and to Rachel, Madge, Sophia and Will. Don’t forget 
M. F. 

Your own, 

Malcolm. 

There was a considerable amount of comment and 
anxiety mingled with joy in the MacGregor family 
when this letter was read and re-read. 

Janet MacGregor could not get rid of the distract- 
ing thought which the letter had plainly suggested to 
her mind. She cared nothing for Spanish bullets and 
murderous bombs and Gatling guns: all these were 
forgotten, or seemed mere trifles compared with this 
new dread of her boy returning home with bloated 
face and blood-shot eyes ! 

The next letter from the South did not relieve the 


Among the Maples 159 

mother’s heart of its fears, though it was sure to bring 
comfort : 


Camp Thomas, May 29, 1898. 

Beloved Parents: This is the Sabbath day, and I 
imagine I see you all going to meeting. It seems an 
age since I sat beside you in church and heard the 
choir and the voice of our pastor. I hear them both 
to-night. To write letters on Sabbath is something 
unusual for me, but it is a work of necessity and mercy 
in our camp life just now. We don’t drill on the 
Lord’s day, but have the time largely at our own dis- 
posal. After breakfast, to-day, Harry Gibson and I 
got permission to go outside the regimental limits, and 
the first thing we did was to hunt for some good water. 
We saw some mule teams starting for Chickamauga, 
so we jumped on and rode into the town, about six 
miles from our camp. 

We were walking along one of the streets and heard 
singing which seemed to come from a large meeting. 
When we got nearer to the church they were singing 
Where is my wandering boy to-night ? ” 

We walked in and stayed for Sabbath school. The 
people were very kind to us and said they were glad 
to see Yankee soldiers in their church. 

After the meeting we made inquiries about water, 
and they directed us to a spring. It was the biggest 
spring I ever saw, and seemed to fairly boil right up 
out of a ledge, about fifteen feet square, and flowed 
away in a stream 'as large as our Renwick river. We 
didn’t do a thing but swill that water down for nearly 
half an hour. 

Every boy in my tent-squad has a Testament which 
was given to him by his parents or sweetheart before 
he left home; we all join in reading a chapter every 
evening. Please send me a ‘‘ Youth’s Companion ” 
occasionally. How I did devour the papers you sent 


160 'Among the Maples 

me. We are all hungry for letters and newspapers, 
and some of the boys have a good cry to themselves 
when they get the news from home. Love to all. 
Mizpah. 

Your own 

Malcolm. 

Corporal MacGregor had been but a few weeks 
at Chickamauga when he found (with many others) 
that camp life was not agreeing with him. 

He felt himself growing weaker and weaker every 
day. Insidious disease was making inroads on his 
seemingly robust health, and he longed to hear the 
orders, ‘‘ On to Cuba,’' which would free the boys 
from the sickly camp and give them a chance to prove 
their mettle on Cuban battlefields. They preferred 
to die like soldiers in a foreign land rather than perish 
like sheep in their own America. 

The food and drink that were dealt to the soldiers 
in Camp Thomas were hardly calculated to sustain life, 
much less to enable the boys to endure the hardships 
or resist the diseases which met them on every side. 

When the hot days of August came, young Mac- 
Gregor was so weak and emaciated that he was 
scarcely able to shoulder his rifle. But he was kept 
resolute and cheerful by the good news that his regi- 
ment was £3on to leave for the Green Hills. 

A letter which he sent home about the first of Au- 
gust gives us another glimpse of his camp life. He 
wrote as follows : 

We have been out for eight days from the regi- 


Among the Maples 


161 


ment doing out-post duty. We were living in our 
small dog-tents that hold only two men. It rained 
nearly all the time we were out, but we had to work 
just the same; two-thirds of the time I was wet to 
the skin and when night came we would lie down and 
let our clothes dry on us ; then got up in the morning 
feeling better than we expected. O, this soldier-life 
is great, if the boys were only well, but some of them 
look like walking skeletons; the only lively-looking 
thing about them is their Krag- Jorgensen and bur- 
nished bayonet. Too bad we can’t use our daisy guns 
to help the poor Cubans, but Uncle Sam will take the 
will for the deed; for our boys in Camp Thomas are 
ready for anything in the shape of a fight.” 

Many of the boys at Chickamauga were more than 
willing to strike for home ” when the time came. 
They knew that “ home ” was the best place to get 
rid of the drink habit which was being formed by the 
soldiers in camp. 

Corporal MacGregor felt anxious for several men 
in the Vermont Regiment who were showing in their 
faces the beacon-light of the canteen. 

‘‘ Steady, there ! ” said MacGregor one day to a 
comrade, as he passed by, ‘‘ just a little too much wet 
to-day, ‘ General.’ ” 

‘‘ Who are you — ^blank, blank ! ” was the response. 

‘‘ Take ice-water to-morrow or you’ll find yourself 
in the guard-house,” said the corporal warningly. 


162 


Among the Maples 


“ Not a blank bit of it. You got twice as much 
on board as I hev — see ? '' 

Watch yourself/' said MacGregor. 

The next day Malcolm heard that the man he had 
warned had just been escorted to the guard-house for 
drunkenness. 

There he was imprisoned for twenty-four hours and 
then released — more sober than he had been for many 
days; yet he was inwardly cursing the War Depart- 
ment for punishing a man because he couldn't hold the 
alcohol which it had tempted him to drink. 


CHAPTER XXI 


A RACE WITH DEATH 

When at last the order came for the First Vermont 
Regiment to decamp for the homeward journey, Cor- 
poral MacGregor was quite ill and unable to walk. 

The surgeon pronounced him unfit for the long 
ride to New England, so he ordered him to be taken 
to the hospital. The thought of being left behind 
nearly broke Malcolm's heart. He had borne up so 
bravely and hopefully under the terrible strain of the 
past four weeks of sickness and exposure to the ele- 
ments; and was he now to be thrown into a hospital 
when he was about to step on the train for home? 

Was he to be left to linger and die in sweltering 
Dixie, when a journey of two days might bring him 
to the cool breezes and clear gurgling streams of his 
native hills! Not if he could help it; and he breathed 
a prayer for the assistance of that Wisdom and Power 
which can accomplish all things. 

A few hours before the regiment began the march 
to the station at Rossville, MacGregor held a little 
council of war with his tentmates. 

“ Say, boys," said he, ‘‘ can't you manage to get 


164 


Among the Maples 


me as far as the train? Even if I should die on the 
way home, what of it? I would be home, anyhow; 
but if I die here — well, no telling what they may do 
with my poor old carcass. But I believe, boys, Fve 
got grit enough left to keep me alive till we reach 
old Renwicktown.” 

'' Mac, old boy, I know you have,’’ said private John 
Gillette, “ and we’ve got sand enough to take you 
there, so help me ” 

There was a look of grim determination mixed with 
tenderness in Gillette’s eye as he spoke. 

Don’t ye worry about that. Corporal,” said Jack 
MacElwee, we’ll get ye to the train if we have to 
kill the surgeon and charge through sixty devils.” 

Now, let’s get the Corporal fixed up — it’s dress 
parade now, ye know,” said Gillette, when they had 
their plans well laid. 

So one comrade brushed MacGregor’s clothes, an- 
other put his shoes on, and a third polished up his 
rifle until they had him ready for the banquet.” 

Malcolm felt somewhat nervous from fear lest he 
and his comrades might be defeated in their bold little 
scheme. The quaint adage came to his mind : 

‘‘ The best laid plans of mice and men 
Gang aft aglee.” 

But the cheerful and dauntless faces of his mates 
gave him new courage and hope. Yankee dash was 
in every move. 


Among the Maples 


165 


At length Jack MacElwee appeared at the door of 
the tent : '' Ready, boys, the team’s here ! ” he said. 

It was quick but gentle work for the boys to carry 
their sick Corporal from the tent to the mule-team 
and wagon which were waiting for him. 

Malcolm was covered with blankets and conveyed 
safely over the six weary miles to Rossville, where he 
was put on the train and comfortably seated among 
his own little guard. He and the other sick soldiers 
received the best possible care and attention which 
their comrades could bestow on them during the tire- 
some journey. 

One corporal of Co. E died on the train and it was 
feared that MacGregor would soon follow; he was 
growing weaker every hour and there was little hope 
that his longing eyes would ever feast themselves 
again on the matchless beauties of his own state. But 
he clung desperately to the sweet hope that still cheered 
and strengthened his heart — a hope that sprang from 
his faith in prayer; and he believed that the prayers 
of the anxious family in Renwicktown would be an- 
swered in his home-coming. 

It was a very different looking regiment, now on its 
way to Vermont, from the one which had taken the 
hearts of the South by storm on the way to Chick- 
amauga only a few weeks before. 

They were the same brave boys (some had died in 
camp, and some were sick and dying in Georgia) ; the 
same invincible patience and good cheer which no 


166 


■Among the Maples 


hardships could destroy; but the gaunt, sickly forms 
and sallow, sunken cheeks, with here and there a face 
that bore sad traces of the canteen — these all told the 
story of the horrors of the camp; a camp where no 
battle was fought, and no foreign foe was visible, but 
where many more American lives were lost than in all 
the naval battles of the same war! 

When the train rolled on through New York State, 
Private MacElwee whispered to MacGregor, ‘‘ Keep 
up, Mac, old boy, we’re gettin’ there — don’t ye smell 
the fir balsam and the spruce-gum ? I snum, there’s a 
maple orchard ! ” 

'' Where ? ” asked Malcolm faintly ; ‘‘ let me see it. 
Jack.” 

MacElwee raised him in the seat so that he could 
get a view of the rich fields, laden with grain, and the 
familiar wild flowers along the roadsides. 

The sight of these brought tears to the Cor- 
poral’s eyes, and his heart leaped for joy at the 
thought of home being so near ; it was the best medi- 
cine he had taken since he left New England for the 
South. 

Jack MacElwee was saying a few cheerful words to 
MacGregor when he looked out of the window and 
saw in the distance the dim outlines of the Green 
Mountains : 

‘‘Vermont! Vermont, boys! I saw her first!” he 
shouted, pointing to the East. Then, as they all 
looked toward the rising sun they gave vent to their 


Among the Maples 


167 


feelings and even the boys who were too weak to shout 
lifted their thin, trembling hands and waved them for 
a moment toward the mountain homes that were wait- 
ing for them. 

At last Fort Ethan Allen was reached on the 21st 
of August. 

Corporal MacGregor, with other invalid soldiers, 
was hurried on to the hospital in Burlington. 

After a few weeks of good nursing Malcolm was 
able to start for Renwicktown, where he was welcomed 
home by one and all, with every expression of joy and 
enthusiasm. 

A large crowd met him at the station, and as he 
stepped off the train the strong motherly arms of 
Janet MacGregor were the first to embrace him. 

While mother and son were weeping for joy in each 
other’s arms, the Renwick band sent forth its loyal 
welcome in the sweet strains of ‘‘ When Johnny 
Comes Marching Home ” and ‘‘ The Star-Spangled 
Banner.” 

Malcolm seemed bewildered as he looked into the 
glad but tear-stained faces of the crowd. He was 
looking for one face in particular, but it was not to 
be seen. 

There was a pang of disappointment in his heart, 
which brought a momentary shadow over his coun- 
tenance. Yet he assured himself that there must be 
wise reasons for Mary’s absence from this gathering 
of friends. 


168 


Among the Maples 


He soon began to fear, however, that the real reason 
for her absence was a serious one. 

Then the tall figure of a young lady was seen com- 
ing forward ; her face beamed with intelligence, while 
it also spoke volumes of sympathy and tenderness. 

It was Emma MacLaren. 

As she grasped her former pupil’s hand in both 
of hers, she said, almost laughingly, ‘‘ My dear sol- 
dier-boy, Sister Canada says, ‘ Welcome home, and 
hurrah for the Stars and Stripes ! ’ ” 

Then three lusty cheers went up for the old flag, 
and three more for England's sympathy" in the 
Spanish War. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A BEAUTIFUL SUNSET 

Before leaving Burlington, Malcolm had heard that 
there was sickness in the Ferguson home in Ren wick- 
town. 

He had received no letter from Mary for a whole 
month previous to his return ; and he knew that only- 
something serious would prevent her from writing 
to him. 

The joy of seeing home again and the glad welcome 
that met the young corporal on all sides were clouded 
by the stillness and gloom that had settled upon the 
Ferguson family. 

Mary had contracted a heavy cold in the early 
spring, after an attack of the grippe; her lungs soon 
became affected, and, during the summer months, her 
health declined rapidly, notwithstanding the skilful 
treatment of old Doctor MacNabb. A warmer climate 
was suggested for the patient but she grew so much 
worse before arrangements could be made for the trip 
to the South that it was thought best for her to re- 
main at home. 

When Malcolm reached Renwicktown, about the last 


170 


Among the Maples 


of September, Mary was unable to converse much with 
him, though she gave him a cheerful and hearty wel- 
come. When he saw the change that sickness had 
wrought on the beautiful face within a few short 
weeks, it seemed to him that years had passed since 
he had last seen Mary when she looked the very pic- 
ture of health and womanly beauty. Now — what a 
change ! Malcolm could recognize only the large brown 
eyes; they were still bright, but it was the brightness 
of the fading leaf. 

Why, Malcolm,” she said, cheerfully, as she saw 
that his feelings would not allow him to speak, I al- 
most gave you up, my soldier boy, but I felt sure you 
would come back some time.” 

‘‘ If I had thought this was going to happen, Mary, 
I don’t think I would have gone,” said he. 

'' Oh, yes, Malcolm ; you did well to go, and God 
brought you back to us again; then, Cuba’s free, just 
as you said it would be — aren’t you glad ?” she added 
with a smile. 

But I didn’t fire a shot for Cuba after all,” said he. 

‘‘ You did more — you offered your life, Malcolm, 
and you came very near losing it; what more could 
you have done ? It was not your fault that you were 
kept from real service in the field. You know Abra- 
ham’s willingness to offer up Isaac was accepted, just 
as though he had actually sacrificed his son — ‘ the will 
for the deed ’ — that’s God’s way.” 

‘'Yes; I see it now; it’s much clearer to me than 


^Among the Maples 171 

it was two months ago, when the boys all wanted to 
die in Cuba rather than stay another day in Chicka- 
mauga/’ 

'' But it’s better as it is ; and now, Malcolm, I can) 
depart in peace when I know you are home safe and 
not buried in a foreign land.” 

'' But you are not going to leave us, Mary ; no, no ; 
your life is worth too much to the world and to the 
Church. If my poor life was spared, why not yours ?” 

If God wills it, my Malcolm, I want to live for 
Him and for you, but I am not afraid to go.” Then, 
gazing into his pale face, she said in a half whisper. 
War is cruel, cruel, to take you away from home 
and send you back so pale and thin; do you know 

someone told me that one of the boys of Company 

looked so dissipated when he came home that his 
mother wept all night and said she wished he had 
died in Georgia or at Santiago.” Mary could say no 
more, for her voice was choked by strong emotions 
and she found relief in a flood of tears which she had 
been striving to hold back. 

You mustn’t talk any more just now,” said Mal- 
colm, ‘‘ you are using up your strength with these 
sad thoughts ; now look on the bright side, Mary ; the 
war is over.” 

Yes, I have been looking on the bright side, and 
I have had such sweet peace within that these sad 
things have not troubled me as they used to. Then, 
your dear, good father has kept me so happy with his 


172 (Among the Maples 

daily visits that I simply can’t feel gloomy. He is 
just as good as a minister in visiting the sick; what a 
father you have, Malcolm.” 

‘‘ I know it ; and I only learned to appreciate him, 
and mother, too, when I left home and went to camp ; 
that’s where home-training tells on a fellow. But 
you’re tired, my dear, and I must let you rest ; hope to 
see you stronger to-morrow.” When Malcolm passed 
into the sitting-room, he stood face to face with Luke 
Burney. It was a different Luke from the one that 
young MacGregor had seen in that same room some 
four years ago. They were now happy to see each 
other, though there was a look of sadness in both of 
their faces. Luke had endeavored to meet Malcolm 
at the station the day that he arrived, but could not 
leave his work in the store. He explained this to Mal- 
colm as he shook hands with him. 

'' Mac, my dear fellow. I’m glad to see you,” he said 
heartily, but they didn’t put much beef on you down 
in Georgia.” 

“ No, not much ; I think army beef doesn’t turn to 
beef after it’s eaten.” 

‘‘ So I’ve heard ; well, it’s a pity if we can’t give 
decent victuals to the boys who fight our battles, when 
the lazy ones at home are living on the fat of the land.” 

That’s jes’ what I say, Luke,” said Uncle Josh, 
who had just come in from the doctor’s house; ‘‘we 
didn’t send our boys down thar to be treated like pris- 
oners in their own camp, an’ then sent hum lookin’ 


Among the Maples 


173 


like thet ” — and he pointed at Malcolm ; '' why, the 
War Department must hev thought they was puttin’ 
a drove o’ cattle in thet pen at Chickymaugar ; if I 
want a feller to work or fight for me, I know enough 
to feed him up well an’ treat him right, or I wunt git 
the work out of ’im.” 

That’s good horse-sense, Uncle Josh,” said Luke, 
it pays every time.” 

Sartin it does, whether it’s a man or a boss, or 
whether it’s a sojer or a servant; thar ain’t no gain in 
starvin’ of ’em; an’ anyhow, gain or no gain, it’s 
downright devilish to do it — that’s the straight of it. 
It’s a mean hound that’ll starve even a snake when he 
can whack its head off and put it out o’ sufferin’.” 

But some of the boys were to blame themselves 
for their sickness. Uncle Josh,” said Malcolm ; they 
didn’t take care of themselves, and some of the strong- 
est men broke down first because of their own disre- 
gard of the laws of health and their intemperate 
habits, both in eating and drinking; that’s what the 
surgeon told me, and I believe it from what I saw in 
camp.” 

When the two young men stood together on the 
porch, Luke laid his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder; 

Mac,” said he, you don’t know how sorry I am 
for — for this sad illness; but Mary doesn’t need my 
sorrow, for it’s well with her. But Tm sorry for 
you, Mac, because you’re going to lose your best 
friend on earth, at least, it looks that way.” 


174 ^ Among the Maples 

Malcolm’s voice was husky when he spoke : “ Yes, 
it does look that way ; has the doctor given them any 
hope?” 

'' He told Uncle Josh there was no hope of her get- 
ting better as far as he could see.” Malcolm shud- 
dered. 

When the old doctor says that, we might as well 
give up,” said he despairingly. 

‘‘ Yes ; he hits the truth ninety-nine times out of a 
hundred ; but while there’s life there’s hope, Mac, and 
doctors don’t know everything; they’ve called people 
dead, sometimes, when they were getting well.” 

Maybe ; but the old doctor — well, he comes as 
near to knowing everything about sick people as any 
man in Vermont.” 

Well, Mac, that’s a consolation then, that Mary 
has had the best medical skill they could get for her.” 

Malcolm’s heart was too heavy to say any more, for 
it seemed to him that the light was going out of his 
life. His faith was being sorely tested and, more than 
once that day he wished in his sorrow that he had 
been left to die in the camp. 

Was it not for her that he had fought so courage- 
ously and hopefully against disease and death? and 
now she was about to be snatched away from him, 
just when he had conquered and escaped from the 
grave. 

The bitterest drop in his cup of sorrow was the firm 
belief that his going to the front had hastened Mary’s 


^Among the Maples 175 

death. Twice she had exposed herself to the storm 
that she might send him letters and receive word from 
him. Rumors of his death had also reached her in 
July, and all these things had had their sad effects 
on the patient’s mind and body. 

As Malcolm and Luke walked down the hill to- 
gether, the former inquired, What’s the matter with 
your foot, Luke?” 

’Tain’t my foot, it’s my leg that’s been troubling 
me for some time. The doctor thinks the hip- joint 
was hurt that night I fell from my horse; it’s been 
weak ever since and don’t seem to get any stronger.” 

Too bad,” said Malcolm tenderly, you must at- 
tend to that, Luke, before it goes too far.” 

Luke did attend to it and consulted the best phy- 
sicians and surgeons, but he was never again able to 
run or jump, though he could walk without crutches. 

Near the end of October, Elder MacGregor was 
making his usual call on Mary Ferguson. The patient 
was quite low and every one who saw her knew that 
the end was near. She was unable to speak to David 
when he entered the room, but she gave him a faint 
smile of welcome. 

The pious old Scot, who had comforted many a 
dying saint, took up the Bible and began to read from 
the gospel of John, fourteenth chapter. As he knelt 
beside the bed for a brief prayer, the rays of the golden 
sunset came streaming in through the window. The 
light beamed full on David’s head and face as he 


176 


^Among the Maples 


poured out his simple petitions; it was a touching re- 
minder of the man of God whose face shone while he 
pleaded on Sinai for his people. David raised his 
right hand as he uttered his last earnest petition : ‘‘And 
now, Lord, give Thy dear child an abundant entrance 
into the New Jerusalem, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.” 

Then, from a corner of the room came a sweet bari- 
tone voice, strong, yet a trifle unsteady at the first. 
It grew stronger as the others joined in the singing, 
but when the third verse was reached, the leader, 
Wullie MacGregor, had to sing alone ; the other voices 
were choked in sobs ; yet never before, in Renwick- 
town, had those historic lines been sung so well by 
one man : 

“ Yea, though I walk through death’s dark vale. 
Yet will I fear no ill; 

For Thou art with me, and thy rod 
And staff me comfort still.” 

The singer knew that this was Mary’s favorite 
psalm, and he sang it from beginning to end, albeit 
at the last verse his heart was breaking with those 
deep emotions which few men have power to control. 

The echoes of the Shepherd Psalm were dying away 
as the sun was sinking behind the hills in unclouded 
splendor. 

It was then that the gentle, Christ-like soul of Mary 
Ferguson took its flight to the Father’s House. 


Among the Maples 177 

She is singing the new song/' sobbed the lonely 
mother, as she stooped to stroke the lifeless cheeks, 
then buried her face in the pillow. 

Uncle Josh turned and went out of the room, hardly 
knowing what he was doing. 

The old organ, still as death, caught his eye; a 
shudder passed over his powerful frame. ‘‘ There ain't 
no music there now," he whispered between his sobs. 

He looked out at the carpet of faded leaves on the 
road, and again his heart sickened at the sight. 

“ She gathered them up for me last October," he 
said, to make a warm bed for the old pony." Look 
where he would, in kitchen or parlor, house or barn, 
in the garden or on the road, it seemed to Uncle Josh 
that nearly everything spoke to him of Mary. 

The benign touch of her busy hands had left its im- 
press on the sorrowing home in a hundred shapes and 
forms. 

Thus, like Uncle Josh, has many a heart been torn 
with anguish when it counted, by the score, the little 
deeds and tedious labors that are valued only when 
the hand that wrought them returns to dust. 

Malcolm was not present when the end came. He 
was at home making preparations for entering his 
Senior year at Burlington, though he saw little en- 
couragement for him to return to his studies. With 
his own health shattered and the dark shadow that he 
saw creeping over him, he had little desire for books 
and little ambition for college honors. 


178 


Among the Maples 


His father did not return from Joshua Ferguson’s 
until it was quite dark. When he entered his own 
house Malcolm was sitting at the window which looked 
out over the hill in the direction of the stricken home. 

Glancing up at his father, young MacGregor saw 
the awful truth written on the tear-stained face. 

Malcolm rose to his feet. 

‘‘Is she worse, father?” 

“ Na, na, my son, she’s in a better country;” the 
father laid his hand tenderly on his son’s shoulder and 
sighed deeply as he looked on the haggard features of 
the grief-stricken lover. 

For a few moments they sat together — father and 
son — in the silence and anguish of the shadow of death. 

Then Malcolm rose and went up to his room where, 
through the sleepless night, he unburdened his sorrow- 
ing heart to the Great Comforter. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


GOOD DEEDS REWARDED 

The academy of Mount Joy was the foremost in- 
stitution of learning in Caledonia county. It had lost 
one of its best teachers, Professor William Grant, who 
had held the chair of chemistry. 

The trustees of the academy realized that they would 
have some difficulty in finding a man who would fill 
the vacant chair as well as it had been filled, and a 
man who could uphold the fine reputation of Mount 
Joy Academy. 

Luke Burney was, at that time, spending the sum- 
mer with his uncle, John Burney, a merchant of Mount 
Joy and one of the trustees of the academy. 

The younger Burney had always been a favorite of 
his uncle, presumably because of the strong resem- 
blance between them in their personal appearance. 
Luke’s conversion, however, and his bodily infirm- 
ities which had resulted from the accident of several 
years ago, had drawn John Burney to his nephew by 
tender ties of sympathy. Luke’s uncle was a strong 
character and a consistent member of the Congrega- 
tional church. 

His opinion had great weight, whether in business or 
school matters, or in questions concerning the church. 


180 Among the Maples 

When the chair of chemistry became vacant, the 
trustees naturally looked to John Burney as the one 
who could be relied on to choose a successor to the 
valuable man who had left the academy to take a 
position in Cornell University. 

Several times in the past Mr. Burney had selected 
teachers for Mount Joy and his keen judgment in 
this matter had always proved of great benefit to all 
concerned. 

Sitting at the supper table one evening with his 
uncle’s family, Luke suddenly remarked, '' I’ve got a 
professor of chemistry for you, Uncle John.” 

“ You have, eh? Who is he, and where is he?” 

Well, he’s a dandy.” 

“ See here, we don’t want dandies for teachers in 
our academy,” replied Mr. Burney in his humorous 
way. 

Yes, you do want the kind of a dandy that I mean : 
he’s every inch a man, with a big head and a big 
heart, and a six footer at that.” 

Well, well ; do tell us his name and don’t keep us 
in suspense, Luke,” said Mrs. Burney, somewhat im- 
patiently. 

‘‘ His name is Malcolm MacGregor.” 

“ MacGregor,” repeated the uncle thoughtfully ; 
you don’t mean the one that went to the Spanish 
War?” 

The same man — a soldier, athlete, scholar and 
Christian. He graduated with honors last year at 


Among the Maples 


181 


Burlington and has just finished a post-graduate course 
in chemistry and mathematics. The professor in the 
university said that MacGregor was a wizard in chem- 
istry and a born mathematician. What more do you 
want?’' 

“But how is he as a teacher?” inquired Mr. Bur- 
ney. 

“First class; he assisted in the laboratory at Bur- 
lington.” 

“Well, but has he good government? that’s the 
question.” 

“ Good government? Well, if MacGregor can’t 
govern a class, there isn’t a man in the county that 
can do it. 

“ He took hold of the worst district school in our 
town one year, and the directors begged him to take 
it for another year. It was the first time in ten years 
that there was good order in that school.” Luke con- 
tinued to argue and plead with his uncle to give Mac- 
Gregor a trial, and Mr. Burney at last consented to 
correspond with several parties relative to the char- 
acter and ability of the young chemist. 

Now, it happened that Malcolm had another friend 
in Mount Joy at this time who was both able and 
willing to say a good word for him. 

Mrs. Emma MacDonald was the wife of a leading 
lawyer of Mount Joy. Her husband was also one of 
the trustees of the academy. 

This good lady remembered that she owed Malcolm 


182 Among the Maples 

MacGregor a debt of gratitude which she could never 
repay, for he had saved her from drowning in the 
Renwick river when she was known as Miss Emma 
MacLaren, the teacher of the Renwicktown High 
School. 

When John Burney mentioned MacGregor’s name 
to Lawyer MacDonald, the latter replied that he had 
heard of the young man a great many times, and that 
he was well thought of by those in Mount Joy who 
were acquainted with him. 

When Hugh MacDonald went home from his office 
that same day he told his wife what Mr. Burney had 
been talking about. 

Why, Hugh! You don’t mean to tell me it’s our 
Malcolm?” exclaimed the wife in glad surprise. 

'' Yes, I guess it’s your Malcolm,” laughed her hus- 
band, but you mustn’t get too hilarious, my dear, 
for he has only been mentioned as a possible candidate. 
There’s another man in the race for this job in the 
academy and he is a bigger man than MacGregor — 
so they say.” 

I don’t care ! You can’t get a bigger man than 
Malcolm to take a professorship in an academy ; you’ll 
be doing well if you succeed in getting a man of his 
stamp to teach in Mount Joy. Men of his size, in- 
tellectually, generally hunt for larger game.” 

“ Oh, we have as big men in our academy as they 
have in most of the small colleges — don’t you forget 
that, Emma.” 


Among the Maples 183 

‘‘That may be, but will you hold them?’' was the 
smiling query. 

“ Well — yes, we can hold them till some college 
finds out what good stuff we have.” 

Before many days Lawyer MacDonald was con- 
vinced by the able pleading of his better half that the 
“ other man in the race ” was really a smaller man in 
every sense than young MacGregor, though the other 
man had been highly recommended for his scholarship 
and his experience as a teacher. 

There were still four trustees of the academy who 
were determined to vote for Professor Isaac Welling- 
ton. 

The day before the meeting which was to elect the 
new teacher the sentiment of the Board was three for 
MacGregor and four for Wellington, with the other 
two rather uncertain, but likely to favor Wellington. 

Of the trustees, John French wanted Wellington 
because they were both Harvard men, though not at 
the same time. Henry Tudor wanted him on account 
of his English birth, while David Smith and Ezekiel 
Fairfax favored him because he was also a staunch 
Congregationalist. 

Matters looked gloomy for Corporal MacGregor. 
Emma MacDonald was in distress, for she felt that it 
was the chance of a life-time for her friend and former 
pupil. 

Mr. MacDonald endeavored to convince the four 
Wellington men of the superiority of young Mac- 


184 Among the Maples 

Gregor, who was so well known to many people in 
and around Mount Joy. He tried to show them that 
it was a risk to choose a man who was comparatively 
unknown; that Harvard College could not make a 
man talented or teach him any more than the Univer- 
sity of Vermont; and that it was mere folly, if not 
downright disloyalty, for a Vermont academy to de- 
spise a Burlington man and choose one from Harvard. 
“ Think of Mount Joy people,’’ he concluded, ‘‘ send- 
ing to Boston for maple sugar ! ” 

But the Wellington ranks stood firm, and it cer- 
tainly looked like a Waterloo for the other side. 

It was little wonder that Emma MacDonald could 
not sleep that night. Yet it was not mere anxiety that 
kept her awake. 

Like a true descendant of a pious ancestry, she knew 
how to pray, as well as work; and while she had done 
what she could for Malcolm in this contest, she felt 
that all her efforts would be in vain unless some special 
act of Providence should turn the tide. For this she 
prayed and continued to pray until her fears had van- 
ished like the morning mists. 

The next day found the trustees of the academy 
still of the same mind — if anything more strongly in 
favor of Professor Wellington. 

At 10 o’clock, however, John French was seen walk- 
ing from the post office with an open letter in his hand. 
In his usually cheerful countenance there was a look 
of disappointment. He was on his way to the depart- 
ment store of Ezekiel Fairfax. 


Among the Maples 


185 


The merchant was found at his desk, and Mr. 
French gave him the letter to read. 

Zeke Fairfax was superintendent of the Sabbath 
school of the Congregational church of Mount Joy 
and was a strong advocate of temperance and pro- 
hibition. 

Mr. French and the other members of the Board 
were also strict temperance men, with perhaps one 
exception. It was not surprising, therefore, that the 
letter which came to the trustees of the academy that 
morning should turn the scale against Isaac Welling- 
ton. The letter was from a man in Rutland who had 
known Wellington at Harvard; and it was in answer 
to a request for information in regard to Wellington’s 
habits while in college. 

The answer came in few words, but they were fatal 
to Wellington’s chances : He was a good fellow, a 
fine scholar and a moderate drinker.” 

That’s enough,” said Mr. Fairfax when he read it, 
‘‘ we can’t run any risks.” 

He’ll never get my vote,” said French; ‘‘we’ve 
had one wine-bibber, that’s enough — ” 

“ Rather have the Vermonter after all,” replied 
Fairfax. 

“ So would I.” 

Then he hurried off- to the home of David Smith, a 
wealthy stockholder in the scale works. 

“ What do you think of it?” asked French, as Smith 
put down the letter with a slap on the table. 


186 idmong the Maples 

Think of it ! ” roared the scale man ; “ guess you 
know what I think of a moderate drinker, Jack,’' he 
continued, with a smile that meant ^'No;” ‘‘I’d as 
lief vote for a Mormon.” 

When the letter was shown to another of the Wel- 
lington men, he remarked : “ Wal, they won’t let a 
woman that drinks teach in the district schools, and 
I guess we don’t want a man that drinks to teach in 
our academy.” 

The Board met that evening at 8 o’clock. Fully an 
hour was taken up with the election of a new pro- 
fessor; but the nominating speech of Lawyer Mac- 
Donald and the remarks of John French and Ezekiel 
Fairfax consumed most of the hour. Only one man — 
Joel Hudson — had come prepared to vote for Profes- 
sor Wellington. Mr. Fairfax suspected this, and was 
ready to prevent, if possible, even one vote from going 
that way. 

“ Now, gentlemen,” said he, near the close of his 
remarks, “ there may be* some one among us who still 
worships at the shrine of Wellington the Less; and 
maybe I am meddling too much with other people’s 
honest convictions and free choice in this matter. But, 
gentlemen, I will say one thing — to vote for a man 
who is described as a ‘ good fellow, a fine scholar and 
a moderate drinker,' is not a wise thing to do. I will 
say more : to cast even one vote for a drinking man 
(for I am informed he still drinks) would be a dis- 
grace to the trustees of Mount Joy Academy, an in- 


Among the Maples 187 

suit to the honorable faculty of temperance men and 
women, and an everlasting blot on the history of our 
institution. And if we are a Board of Christian gen- 
tlemen we will have nothing to do with these drinking 
teachers, who boast of getting their brains and ability 
from the bunghole of a whiskey barrel ! ’’ There was 
fire in the eye of the tall Yankee as he said these 
words; and when he finished his remarks by bring- 
ing his great fist down on the table with stern energy, 
Joel Hudson's courage forsook him and he surrend- 
ered to the MacGregor forces without a word. 

Early the next morning Mrs. MacDonald sent a 
telegram to Renwicktown. As David MacGregor held 
the piece of yellow paper in his trembling hand he 
read the few precious words over and over with the 
deep, silent joy of a Scottish father: 


You are elected, 
lations. 


Must accept. Hearty congratu- 
E. MacDonald.'^' 


Read it yersel’,” said David to his wife, as he 
handed her the message. It'll gar ye greet [weep] 
wi' joy." 

Janet MacGregor did greet " for several minutes 
when she read the good news. Then she wiped away 
the tears with the corner of her apron and, calling 
Malcolm in from the wood-shed, she gave him such a 
hugging and kissing as almost took his breath away. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


mart's cousin 

** Will you kindly tell me which train I should take 
for Renwicktown?” 

The speaker was a young lady of twenty-two, 
plainly, but well dressed; attractive in manners, and 
with a profusion of dark brown hair that harmonized 
with her expressive brown eyes and well-cut features. 
She had just arrived at De Bracy on the train from 
Springfield, Mass., and was on her way to spend the 
Christmas holidays with her relatives in Vermont. 
After being directed to the right train, which was to 
start in a few minutes for Montpelier, the young lady 
soon found a seat in the dusty car and settled herself 
for a comfortable but short ride to her destination. 
She was glad to be thus sheltered from the frosty air, 
though she had not felt the cold very much until 
she glanced at the thermometer at the station and 
found the mercury down to twenty below zero. Then 
she wondered why she did not feel colder; she was 
surprised to see a few hardy boys standing around the 
station without overcoats, and even the men and wo- 
men in the sleighs seeming to enjoy the temperature 
as though it had been the month of September. 


Among the Maples 


189 


The horses were white with the frozen vapor, but 
the still, dry air of the mountains made winter a feast 
of comfort and delight, even to the small boys who 
were sliding down the steep hillsides on barrel staves. 
As the stranger from Massachusetts entered the car. 
Professor MacGregor, who was on his way home from 
Mount Joy, looked up from his newspaper. He was 
sitting two or three seats from where the young lady 
chose to sit, on the other side of the car. 

The professor turned a shade paler when he caught 
sight of the young lady’s face. The newspaper dropped 
from his hands and he read no more of it until he 
reached his old home in Renwicktown. He was, in a 
measure, afraid lest the sweet-faced passenger might 
turn around in time to see the signs of his consterna- 
tion that he knew must be plainly written on his coun- 
tenance. Yet he wanted another look at that face. 
He could not take his eyes away from the one object 
of his attention, though he could see only the back of 
her head as she sat in front of him, and kept her face 
toward the window. Malcolm began to wonder if he 
was in a dream or losing his mental faculties. Then 
he said to himself, ‘‘ She must be a relative of the 
Fergusons, a cousin of Mary’s or maybe a long-lost 
sister — but I would have heard of her before this.” 

‘‘ What a resemblance,” he thought ; ‘‘ face, fore- 
head, hair, stature and mouth — and those eyes!” He 
was on the verge of introducing himself to put an 
end to the torturing conflict of his thoughts. But, no. 


190 Among the Maples 

What if he were mistaken? He was not thus in the 
habit of speaking to strange ladies without due cere- 
mony, and he must be careful of his dignity as a pro- 
fessor, as well as of his reputation as a man. 

When the stranger inquired of the conductor when 
they would reach Renwicktown, Malcolm overheard 
her and was then convinced that the young lady was 
going to Uncle Josh Ferguson’s and was a near relative 
of either Mr. Ferguson or his wife. When the train 
stopped, Malcolm waited until the stranger rose and 
walked out of the car in front of him. Sure enough. 
Uncle Josh was at the station to meet the visitor, and 
he welcomed her much as a father would welcome his 
daughter home. 

Seeing young MacGregor standing near, talking 
with his sister Rachel, Uncle Josh went over to them 
and introduced the young lady. Miss MacGregor, I 
want to make ye acquainted with my niece. Miss Mary 
Wallace, from Springfield. And this is Professor Mal- 
colm MacGregor, of our Mount Joy Academy, but 
we jes’ call him ‘ Malcolm ’ for short.” 

'' Mary,” continued Uncle Josh, ‘‘ has come up to 
spend Christmas and New Year’s with us an’ we’re 
mighty glad to have her, for we hain’t seen her in ten 
years.” 

I do hope you will have a pleasant visit. Miss Wal- 
lace,” ventured the professor, who now felt much re- 
lieved by this opportunity to speak to one whose ap- 
pearance had caused him so much emotion. 


Among the Maples 


191 


I know youll enjoy Vermont/’ said Rachel, for 
everybody does, especially in sleighing time, and every- 
body likes to visit Uncle Josh and Aunt Margaret — 
that’s what we all call them, you know.” 

Wal, now, Rachel, you an’ Malcolm an’ the rest 
of the folks must come up and see us while Mary’s 
with us ; an’ come soon, for she may git homesick with 
us ole folks, an’ maybe start off ’fore ye know.” 

No danger of my getting homesick with you. Uncle 
Josh, or with Aunt Margaret, either; not if you are 
as big a tease as you were when I last saw you in 
Springfield.” 

Wal, Mary ; now I was hopin’ ye had forgot all 
about my foolish pranks by this time,” laughed Joshua; 
yet his heart was sad, as the memory of those happy 
days came back to him; for it was then that his own 
Mary had gone with him to visit his sister’s family in 
Massachusetts. 

Malcolm MacGregor was not the only one who was 
struck at the wonderful resemblance between Mary 
Wallace and her deceased cousin. 

For the landsakes ! I began to think I was a los- 
in’ my reason or somethin’ was wrong with my optics,” 
gasped Reuben Stout, as he stood on the steps of the 
postoffice, while Uncle Josh and his niece passed by. 

Say, Mac,” said Reuben, as the professor walked 
up and shook hands with him, '' who’s that gal with 
Uncle Josh?” 

'' It's his niece. Miss Wallace, from Springfield,” 


192 


'Among the Maples 


Wal, sir, if Mary Ferguson was a livin’, I’d a 
gambled on it that was her. If I’d met her on the road 
near Josh’s house. I’d a dropped sure, an’ swore I’d 
seen a ghost. What d’ you say, Mac?” 

‘‘Yes, there is a strong resemblance; I was struck 
with it as soon as I saw her on the train.” 

Reuben noticed that Malcolm followed with his eye 
the forms of Joshua Ferguson and his niece until they 
vanished at the turn of the road. Reuben told his wife 
that night what he had seen in the village as he talked 
with Malcolm, and he seemed delighted with his own 
prediction as he uttered it : “ Now, I’m tellin’ ye. Mat- 
tie, if Mac hain’t lost his heart already in Mount Joy 
with some o’ them good-lookin’ pupils o’ his, then I 
say he’s goin’ to lose it afore long or I’m no weather 
prophet.” 

The following week, when Malcolm and his sister 
Rachel called on Miss Wallace, they found her dressed 
in a neat print wrapper. She was busy helping her 
aunt with the kitchen work, for she could not be idle ; 
she had mastered all the details and mysteries of house- 
work under the instruction of a wise mother. 

A few minutes’ conversation were sufficient to prove 
to Rachel MacGregor (and to her brother as well) 
that there were points of contrast between the two 
cousins as well as many points of resemblance. But 
the differences were not disparaging to either one. 

They were differences which seemed to draw the 
young professor to this stranger from Massachusetts. 


Among the Maples 


193 


Malcolm made more than one call on Uncle Josh be- 
fore returning to Mount Joy ; and Uncle Josh was de- 
lighted to have Malcolm come so often, though he 
knew that his pretty niece was liable to be taken from 
him by these same visits. 


CHAPTER XXV 


jerry's last sleigh ride 

No neater home graced the hillsides of Caledonia 
County than that of Jerry Brown and his little wife 
Nancy. Their cozy white cottage stood on a terrace 
near one end of the village of Renwicktown. A long 
flight of steps led up to the quaint front door, which 
was shaded in summer-time by a Virginia creeper 
which grew over a well-made trellis. The terrace in 
front of the house added to its beauty, both in summer 
and winter. The happy occupants of this cheery home 
were well up in years, creeping near the seventies. 
Yet life had not lost any of its interest to them. 
Though their heads were beginning to bow and their 
steps to totter under the load of years, their minds 
were still alert. They took as much interest in the 
affairs of the town as many of the younger men and 
women; and their knowledge of events that happened 
within five miles of their home was remarkably thor- 
ough and accurate, though they had neither horse nor 
vehicle nor telephone to keep them in touch with the 
world. Jerry, it is true, wanted to keep a horse; he 
was a great lover of horses, and declared that he could 


Among the Maples 195 

‘‘ drive a boss or break a colt a plaguy sight better’n 
any o’ these brats o’ hoss-jockies reound here.” 

But Nancy decided to keep down expenses, and 
argued so strongly against Jerry’s notion, that he 
abandoned the idea of keeping such a luxury as a 
horse and buggy. Indeed it generally happened that 
the wife’s side of the argument was the winning side, 
except when Jerry got stubborn and settled the ques- 
tion by putting his foot down. Nancy knew very well 
that a young and fiery steed such as her husband would 
buy, if he bought any, would be too much for him to 
handle. But the plucky old Vermonter would never 
admit that his joints were stiffening, or his arms 
losing their skill and brawn. Many a time he had 
been pulled around unmercifully in recent years by 
some spirited animal, and had more than once nar- 
rowly escaped being kicked or tramped to death by 
a hired horse. 

Nevertheless, if Jerry Brown was no longer the 
horseman that he used to be in his younger days, he 
could still mend shoes and make them, too, with appar- 
ently the same skill as of old. Many a foot was kept 
warm and dry in Renwicktown by the good leather and 
honest cobbling of Jerry. He was pegging away in 
his shop one cold March day, while the wind was sigh- 
ing mournfully. The little shoemaker was feeling 
somewhat lonely. 

‘‘I say, what ye doin’ out thar, Nancy?” he called 
to his wife, as she was working in the kitchen. 


196 Among the Maples 

“ Why, Fm bakin', of course ; what else would I be 
doin' on Tuesday?" 

Wal, you was keepin' so mighty quiet about it, I 
thought yer pies had gone out o' kilter with ye. Hain't 
had a caller to-day an' it's gettin' so plaguy lonesome — 
the wind's a howlin' like it was goin' to a funeral." 

‘‘ Sho, Jerry, man, you must hev the blues; can't 
you shake 'em off with some extry teches of yer ham- 
mer?" 

Extry teches, eh !" said Jerry, a little testily, ‘‘ Wal, 
I declare if I don't put enough extry teches into my 
work to suit any sensible woman; the trouble is, Fm 
hammering away at soles the hul year reound an' I 
hain't no time to fix up my own poor ole soul." 

‘‘ Tush! Jerry Brown, how you talk! " 

‘‘ Wal, I mean jist what I say," insisted the husband. 

‘‘ But, look here, Jerry, dear, you've got lots of 
chances to 'tend to your soul ; why don't you think an' 
meditate on the sermon or some other good text while 
yer workin' away, an' nobody to talk to ye? That's 
the way William Carey did, and I guess he wa'nt as 
good a shoemaker as you be, though he did become a 
wonderful great missionary." 

‘‘ Wal, it's pesky little I kin carry hum out of a ser- 
rnon these days, an' all I kin remember wunt last me 
more'n half a day," said Jerry, with a few ‘‘extry 
teches " of the hammer. 

“ Why, there's enough in them stories of the last 
sermon to keep ye thinkin' a hul month," 


Among the Maples 


197 


Ye-es, but sometimes the story hurts wuss than 
the sermon does/' 

'' That's jes' what ye need, then, Jerry Brown; when 
it hurts ye, it's doin' ye good." 

‘‘ Ain't so sure o' that ; sometimes it hurts so bad 
that I don't git over it till the next sermon an' maybe 
he'll rub it in then wuss than ever." 

The shop door opened and little Lizzie Melville ap- 
peared with a paper and letter in her hand. 

‘‘ I got yer mail this mornin', Mr. Brown." 

“ I declare, if you ain't a jewel an' a cherubeem all 
in one," said Jerry. 

‘‘ Yes, she's a bundle o’ goodness — here, wait, you 
little sweetheart, till I get you some cookies." 

Nancy soon opened the envelope and found it to be 
an invitation to a wedding. 

“ Jes' as I expected, an' I'd a felt mighty hurt if it 
hedn't come," said she, trembling with excitement. 

‘‘ What’s that ? somebody sendin' ye a love-letter ? " 
asked Jerry. 

“ Somethin’ jes’ as good,” said she, handing him the 
letter, and rushing back to the kitchen. 

‘‘ He's takin’ a queer time o' year to git married in," 
soliloquized Jerry; ‘‘but Mac'll go through a blizzard 
every day to marry that Mary Wallace, an' I don't 
blame him; but she ain't jes' the gal I hed cut out 
fer him.” 

Some days after an old-fashioned sleigh was seen 
leaving the white cottage. 


198 Among the Maples 

‘‘ Watch yourself, Jerry Brown, or ye’ll have me 
out o’ the sleigh in no time,” said Mrs. Brown nerv- 
ously, as they were carried swiftly over the ice and 
snow toward Sandy Ridge. 

“Why, what ye ’fraid of? Landsakes, I hain’t 
pitched ye out in the snow for ten years an’ more.” 

“ Well, ye come so near it lots o’ times that I’m jes’ 
holdin’ my breath when ye make them sharp turns.” 

“ Don’t ye let your narves git the best of ye, Nancy. 
Use yer will power an’ good common sense an’ we’ll 
git along all right. Ole Dan’s feelin’ his oats to-day, 
an’ he knows he’s goin’ to a weddin’.” 

“ Dear me, I wish Josh hadn’t moved to Sandy 
Ridge ; but we ought to be thankful for the invitation. 
’Tain’t every one Josh would have to a weddin’ like 
this one. They’re goin’ to have some of the aristocracy 
of Mount Joy, I hear, an’ the bride is to be dressed in 
white silk trimmed with lace and flowers.” 

“ Sho ! you’d better go back hum then an’ leave them 
newspapers oflf yer body. They’ll think it’s a new 
patent breast-plate to keep off bullets or snow-balls, 
or they’ll take ye fer a walkin’ library with a hul 
year’s news wrapped around ye.” 

“ Now, Jerry, do mind yer boss or ye’ll come to 
grief afore long. Them newspapers is keepin’ me jest 
as warm as your fur cawt an’ they cost only a few 
cents. Why, I’m so warm I could ride to the North 
Pole.” 

“ Yes, an’ even the polar bears couldn’t git at ye 


Among the Maples 


199 


with all that armour around ye. I tell ye, Josh’ll hev 
some fun when he tries to lift ye out o’ the sleigh an’ 
finds a hul stack o’ Boston Heralds with a woman in- 
side.” 

Old Dan went flying along enjoying the bright, 
frosty morning and the easy load that he found him- 
self, pulling; for neither Jerry nor his wife were very 
heavy. The horse had been borrowed from Reuben; 
and Jerry was always careful to use him as gently as 
possible. But both horse and driver had a difficult 
task in front of them, for when they reached the hill 
beyond Sandy Ridge leading up to Joshua Ferguson’s 
new home, they found the road badly drifted. There 
were no fences to mark the road as it led across a 
large field and though several teams had gone ahead of 
them that same morning, the tracks had been quickly 
covered by the drifting snow. The brave horse plunged 
and plowed through the drifts for half a mile and was 
kept from hurting himself by the skilful driving of 
the veteran horseman. Jerry’s accurate knowledge of 
the road and field also prevented Dan from going into 
the dangerous gully that crossed the road and was 
spanned by a few planks. 

The aged couple had a serious time trying to keep 
in the sleigh as it rocked from side to side — one mo- 
ment forcing them to throw their weight to one side 
and the next moment to the other side, making the 
driver’s position a most difficult one and, at this time, 
even perilous. 


200 


Among the Maples 


At last the top of the hill was reached when the 
horse was nearly exhausted, and Nancy’s nerves were 
almost ready to collapse. 

Well, I’m glad it’s down-hill goin’ home,” she 
gasped. 

“ So am I,” said he, that’s the wuss fix we was 
ever in, goin’ to a weddin’.” But both Jerry and his 
good wife enjoyed the festivities as though they had 
been carried to them in a parlor car. Hugh MacLean 
and Jack Douglass were there, and filled in the time 
with song and story. Luke Burney and Nellie Guth- 
rie were there also, and cheered the wedding guests 
with the violin and guitar. Harry Galbraith, Mal- 
colm’s old school chum, had looked forward to this 
happy day, and was to have been the best man.” 
But he was now sleeping in the little cemetery on 
the hillside in Renwicktown, after a heroic career in 
the Philippines. 

The guests had nearly all arrived, when some one 
asked if Wullie MacGregor was home from the Sem- 
inary yet. 

Na yit,” said David MacGregor ; “ whan he didna 
come hame this mornin’, he’s na like tae be here the 
noo. He maun be sair ta’en up wi’ Hebrew an’ the- 
ology whan he styed sae lang in Philadelphy an’ ne- 
gleckit his brither’s waddin’ ! ” 

It was plain to all that Wullie’s father felt his 
absence keenly; and the mother’s silence was an evi- 


Among the Maples 201 

dence that she, too, was thinking much of her “ young- 
est boy/' 

But her thoughts were those of anxiety. Janet 
MacGregor knew Wullie's nature better than the 
father did; and she was persuaded that nothing but 
sickness or accident would keep Wullie from this 
wedding feast of his elder brother. 

About ten minutes before the time set for the nup- 
tials, the quick ear of Janet discerned the distant 
sound of sleigh-bells. She rose quickly and opened 
the kitchen door, which looked out on the road to 
Sandy Ridge. 

A sleigh was just rounding the top of the hill, about 
a stone's throw from the house. Janet judged rightly 
that a man and a woman were the occupants of the 
sleigh ; but, as it was twilight, no one at first could 
determine who the parties were. 

Jack Douglass settled the question by saying, “ It's 
either Wullie MacGregor sittin' doon or some ither 
mon stanin' up — shure it's Wullie." 

“But who's the woman?" inquired several voices. 

“ Betsy Cameron, of coorse," Wid Jack; “ dae ye na 
ken yon headgear? A cud tell it in the dark at the 
North Pole." 

It was, indeed, Betsy Cameron and young Mac- 
Gregor. 

Wullie had driven home from De Bracy, having 
missed the morning train to Renwicktown. He knew 
that Betsy had an invitation to th^ wedding, and he 


202 Among the Maples 

determined that she should go with him; for in Wul- 
lie's opinion, there was no fun at a wedding in Sandy 
Ridge or Renwicktown without Betsy. 

When the guests were seated at the supper table, 
every one expected a feast of reason as well as one of 
baked beans and mince pie. For, with Betsy Cameron 
(a Calvinist) on one side of the table and Jerry 
Brown (a Methodist) on the other side, a battle royal 
over some doctrinal question was almost as certain as 
the stars in their courses. 

But Jerry was too busy wrestling with chicken-pie 
and apple-sauce to pay much attention to intellectual 
or sectarian conflicts. 

When the last course was being served, it happened 
that Jerry made a passing remark which was easily 
construed by Betsy into a challenge for debate. The 
little shoemaker well knew that his little sarcasm 
against the doctrine of election was sufficient to arouse 
Betsy’s combativeness. 

Jerry began by arguing from his own experience 
and observation. But Betsy forced him away from 
this line of argument and chose her own weapons and 
her own ground. Her skill in quoting Scripture gave 
her marvellous power even over antagonists who were 
far superior to her in learning. 

She fired a broadside into Jerry’s defence from Ro- 
man’s Eighth and then another from Ephesian’s First. 

Jerry was staggered for a moment, but soon recov- 
ered himself by quoting from Hebrews Tenth and then 


"Among the Maples 


203 


reierring to the Whosoever '' promises as proof of 
the freedom of the will and the unlimited scope of re- 
demption. Betsy was prepared for this powerful at- 
tack. She raised her right hand and shook her fore- 
finger — a well-known signal for the opening of that 
rapid-fire of Scripture texts which had won for her 
many such conflicts. She saw one weak spot in the 
theological fortress of her antagonist. Against that 
heel of Achilles ’’ Betsy hurled, in rapid succession, 
such a tempest of Scripture proofs from Pentateuch, 
Prophets, Gospels and Epistles, that Jerry soon felt like 
a small boy; and when his Calvinistic opponent had 
reached the Book of Revelation, the little shoemaker 
had dwindled into a grasshopper. Nevertheless, Jerry 
Brown had held his own in this encounter as well as 
most of those who had crossed swords with the same 
antagonist. 

Jerry was still in good humor ; for he had the sym- 
pathy of more than one among the guests, who had 
suffered a like defeat. 

Betsy’s thoughts were soon turned to reminiscences ; 
and from her capacious memory, that evening, both 
old and young gathered some strange and valuable 
facts of '' Old Light ” history. At the suggestion of 
one of the guests, Betsy performed another feat of 
memory when she repeated the forty-fifth psalm in 
both the metrical and prose versions. 

Then, just before the bride and groom departed for 
Springfield, Jerry Brown, in his prayer, expressed the 


204 


Among the Maples 


wish that this inspired song might be their guide 
through a long and happy union, to prepare them to 
enter into the King’s palace.” 

Jerry never sought another conflict with the Cove- 
nanter woman of Calton Hill. He never attended an- 
other wedding, nor drove with Nancy through another 
winter storm. But all honor to the little Methodist 
from the pen of his Presbyterian friend and brother; 
and all honor to her who fought and won with the 
good ‘‘ Damascus Blade.” 

THE END 







